Reunion
by Kaitlinbell
Summary: Ten years ago Marco disappeared from Degrassi, building up a life and a new identity in the hopes of forgetting his last. So what happens when one night his old life intrudes on the new?
1. Chapter 1

Hello all. I bring you the first installment of what I like to call "the project." It will be pretty big considering I had planned it as a one-shot even if it didn't turn out that way. I have two chapters ready to go, so if I get a few nice reviews I'll post the next chapter real quick like.

Warnings? Swearing. That's about as bad as my fics go. lol

Marco/Dylan. Everyone probably knew this before they clicked the link. But...I'm warning anyway. If it bothers you...why are you _here?_

* * *

Marco leaned against the car door more firmly, blowing hot air onto his frozen hands and trying in vain to ignore the clumps of snow forming on his eyelashes. In the distance a sickly yellow light glowed out, piercing the fast approaching darkness and beckoning him forward, a promise of warmth if he would just move from where he stood. 

The invitation was hard to deny, he admitted. It was very cold out after all, and the parking lot was hardly the place to stay warm in the depths of December. It had snowed for the entire journey here, his windshield fogging up at inopportune times and more than a few cars driving too slowly in fear of their tires sliding on the ice. But here he was. Even from this far away Marco could see the little balloons outside the gym doors bobbing up and down like sightless specters, partially obscuring the sign they were attached to.

_2005 High School Reunion._

It had been ten long years since he'd stepped foot into this school. A decade of sunrises and sunsets that he had not entered those doors. Ten years since he had left everything he had ever known and the place he'd once called home behind.

Minute by quiet, crystalline minute ticked by and Marco could feel his indecision growing, becoming a dull roar behind his temples as his mind battled between the apprehension and the longing to be warm. A glance at his watch told him he'd been out here for an hour in this peaceful but loud quiet, the silence only broken every once in a while when the gym doors would open and a slightly giggly couple would come out for a cigarette. Each time he would duck and crouch down next to his tires, waiting until he heard the metal clink of the doors closing shut behind them before he resumed his prior position against the car.

Marco didn't know _why _he was here. He had to be at the office by noon tomorrow and he really should be sleeping right now instead of driving all over the country to former school functions. He wished he knew what had possessed him to take the mailed invitation seriously anyway. Why he had climbed into his tin pot of a car and drove all over the place to a past he'd been running from. He certainly confused himself at times.

Marco popped his knuckles thoughtfully as he stared at the gym building in curious but strained fascination. It didn't look too different. It was still the ugly off white color it had always been and there were still a few hardly noticeable burn marks from the dance he had put together so long ago. Marco even fancied he could see the crack in the wall where Spinner had attacked it with his skateboard senior year.

No, the only real difference to the place at all was that Marco knew the history. He knew what this place meant to him and he alone knew the reasons why he had been avoiding it like plague since graduation. However, the fact still remained that he was indeed; outside of Degrassi Community School. School and the light from inside was all but begging him to shed his fears and join in.

Screwing up his courage Marco sighed deeply and shoved his hands into his pockets before starting up the short but icy walk from the parking lot to the gymnasium. He hadn't come all this way to cower by the car after all. No matter how appealing that sounded.

Upon reaching the building a man and a woman that he didn't recognized swept out just as he pulled open the doors. Luckily they were two people he'd never been friends with back at school and he easily side-stepped them, swinging the door widely before stepping inside.

Loud voices and gaudy pink and blue lights assaulted him once he was safely in the warm confines of the building, and through the pressing sea of bodies Marco first targeted, and then made his way over to the punch bowl in the corner. His throat was sore from standing out in the cold and his thin clothes had not helped any. The thought of a drink sounded heavenly.

Halfway there a pair of broad shoulders suddenly blocked his path and Marco felt his lips thin into a tight line of irritation. He rolled his eyes, once again wishing he were anywhere but here, and reached up, tapping this roadblock of a person's jersey clad back.

"Sorry, but could I maybe get by? My throat is killing me," Marco asked as angelically as he could in his high strung state, tacking on a shy smile for good measure, hoping that maybe this man wouldn't take offense to his brusque manner and simply step aside.

His smile slid out of existence however when the stranger turned around and blue eyes met his. "Marco? Is that you?"

The dark haired boy darted his eyes this way and that, bouncing his gaze around the room looking for a quick escape. This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. Former seniors shouldn't be here at an '05 reunion. Why must his past always catch up with him no matter how far he ran away? Of all the people, all the reminders that this day could have thrown his way, the very last and least plausible of them all happened to find himself standing before him. Dylan Michalchuk.

"Um, yes. Excuse me," he said before he slipped by the taller man towards the punch bowl, trying to ignore the anxiety pouring off of him in waves. He offered the bald man behind the table a smile as he poured him a drink before taking it and enjoying the coolness of the punch, almost sighing with relief as it slipped down his throat.

A tap on the back made him choke however. "So where have you been?" Marco craned his neck, looking over his shoulder at Dylan feeling a distinct lightning bolt of unease rush through him.

"I've been...I've been busy," he answered truthfully enough, watching as the blonde's expression tightened considerably. Thanking the punch man Marco decided now was perhaps the time to leave and started to quickly shove his way to the doors he had come in through, vaguely aware of the man was still following him.

A rather loud bang greeted his ears as he shoved the metal doors open wide and a gust of freezing wind attacked his face the moment he was outside. The sunset was now gone, only darkness and yellow lamplight reflecting off snow in its place. Marco shoved his hands deep into his pockets and fumbled for his car keys, shuddering at how cold they were against his fingers once he found them.

"Marco! Wait! Can we talk before you leave?" yelled the overly familiar voice of the man following him, still as spine tinglingly gravelly as it had always been and leaving him little choice but to listen. "It's been years. I've-well we've all missed you really."

The Italian boy stopped, considering. Years wasn't even an appropriate word. Ten long years, that's how long it had been since he'd seen or spoken to Dylan. But here he was, as solid and real as he himself was ...with yet another invitation that he was having trouble ignoring.

With a sigh that came out as a puff of white Marco turned around to face his boyfriend of so long ago. Like the school, Dylan hadn't changed much. His hair was a tad bit longer and now a dark brown instead of his former blonde. His eyes were the same, still as bright and sparkling as they had always been. He wasn't taller, though maybe his shoulder's were broader and they made his posture seem much straighter and more powerful. All in all, time had been very good to Dylan, Marco mused as the familiar feeling of adoration and thinly veiled physical appreciation swelled up inside of him.

"A-alright." The reply was softly spoken, his voice cracking under the pressure and making him sound as if the very thought was shattering his mind to an incoherent mess. Not terribly far off, he snarled internally.

The pause after his words made him slightly hopeful that Dylan would change his mind, though his hopes disappeared as the blonde boy smiled beatifically and waved him over to a bench. Brushing the snow off of the seat with one wool covered hand Dylan began the questioning that Marco was dreading.

"So where did you run off to? No one has seen hide nor hair of you since graduation. Hazel started speculating that you had died after a couple of months."

The question was made carefully, guarded and wary of the other person's wish to run at any moment, but with an easy and friendly demeanor glossed over the top of them, more a form of small talk than anything else. Marco sighed resignedly and brushed his now long, black hair out of his face.

"I...I've been in New York actually."

_"You're in the big city now kid. You pay or you find a nice park bench."_

Marco shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts at a dull roar until this conversation ended. Or abruptly fell apart, he reminded himself.

"New York!" Dylan exclaimed, scooting that little bit closer and seeming to get excited. "Didn't know you had it in you Marco. Wow. Is it nice there?"

Marco nodded without really noticing his action, fearing where their conversation might go and far from not noticing that the space between them had lessened. He just wanted to go home, he thought. He wanted to go home and sleep until his shift started the next day and he could forgot this botched night ever happened.

"Hm. What made you leave the country though? I thought you loved Canada." The change in Dylan's voice was apparent, going from a lilt of cajolery to a softer note. The questions were swerving now, he thought, and Marco knew it was time to end this chat before Dylan found out more than needed.

"I-I should go. I have work soon, and I've got to drive home. I need sleep," he said, his parting words coming out in a jumble of rushed words as the dark haired boy jumped up from his place on the bench and quickly shuffled over to the borrowed heap of junk that he called a car.

"It was nice seeing you again, Marco," a soft voice called after him.

He stopped and looked back at Dylan._ Ten long years_.

"Yes. It was nice seeing you as well," he hastily called back, turning his head and never looked back.

_Liar._

_

* * *

_

An exhausting thirteen hours later Marco pulled up beside an old decrepit looking building, a few mangy cats scattering after being flashed by his headlights and knocking down quite a large collection of banged up trashcans in their hurry to retreat. The place had probably seen better days, but it was the less desirable things about the place that made it so cheap, so Marco wasn't about to complain. It wasn't like you couldn't get used to the yelling neighbors downstairs or the disgusting smells.

Thinking of the alternative...he had made the right choice.

Fumbling for his keys a cat slithered around his ankles, butting its head against his dirty trainers and mewling into his shoelaces. Marco smiled tiredly and bent down to scratch the back of the grey feline's ears as he tried to fight the exhaustion pulsing behind his eyes. "Hey Tully. Did Mrs. Dudley kick you out again?"

The cat, affectionately known as Tully, turned yellow lamp like eyes up at the Italian man and mrred as if answering his question with the ease of any human. Marco sighed and straightened back up, hearing his knees pop loudly in protest at the quick movement.

"Yeah, well the woman's about to throw me out on my ass from this dump as well, so I suppose we're in the same boat you and I," he bit out agitatedly, unlocking and opening the door.

Tully slipped through the opening without a sound, reminding him very much of an animal he had read about in one of JK Rowling's books called a lethifold. Completely silent and deadly, nothing more than a shadow before it smothers you and eats you whole, not even a trace that someone had ever been there at all.

Marco smiled. It was obviously very late if he was comparing the sweet natured cat that hung about his room to a dangerous, and completely mythical creature. He watched the swift moving ball of fluff as his eyes strained to adjust to the darkness of the room and saw it settle at the end of his mattress, luminous eyes turning to watch him right back.

Marco harrumphed at the fact that the cat was more comfortable in his own apartment than he was as he looked in the fridge. There was a single bottle of water (he didn't trust himself to drink the tap of _this _place) and a jar of mayonnaise that had been there since he'd rented the place. Nothing edible it would seem. He sighed and slammed it shut, gritting his teeth together to make himself ignore the gnawing of his stomach.

Perfect ending to this perfectly hellish day.

Throwing himself onto the mattress on the floor, Marco lifted up an arm for his companion to slip under. He sighed, shutting his eyes against the streetlight flooding in through the bare window and hoped the sirens a few blocks away would go away soon, fully intent to sleep the full five hours before noon.

A few minutes later, as the fatigue in his mind was catching up with him and allowing him to slip off his eyes were forced to ping open when a soft knock at the door reached his ears. Marco groaned out loud, not even caring to disguise his disgust at having a visitor so early in the morning, and hoped it wasn't his landlord. He drug himself up, noticing he should have changed before going to sleep, as he was still wearing the threadbare brown sweater and baggy cargos he had thrown on a day and a half ago. Marco swallowed the scathing comments on the tip of his tongue before he unlocked and opened the door, squinting as the light flooded into his dark little world.

In the dimly lit hallway stood a woman with long black hair, a hot pink streak in the front falling into her eyes. She looked a bit peeved, but otherwise her young face held no flaws. Small, doll-like hands with ebony nails gripped a carton of what looked like Chinese takeaway, and her rather large boots squeaked slightly as she shifted from foot to foot. Hazel eyes took in his appearance with one swift, practiced glance, assessing his mood quickly before smiling very softly as if to persuade his temper into staying hidden.

"Anne... you do realize it's going on seven in the morning don't you?" he pointed out.

The petite girl side-stepped Marco easily and walked in over to the bed, crossing her legs and plopping down onto the floor with quite a lot more grace than one would imagine possible wearing shoes like that. She moved around a bit, rocking in place in front of his mattress to get comfortable and popped open the box.

"And you haven't eaten Adamo." Marco felt a long hidden piece of his mind wince at the name but no outward reaction occurred due to years of practice.

"No. I'm not hungry really," he mumbled, feeling a deep blush rise up when his stomach decided that that moment was perfect to tell his friend just how hungry he really was. Even in the dark he could see her cock an eyebrow at the noise.

"Okay, how did you know anyway?" he asked as she handed him the carton and he lowered himself down onto the mattress. She lay down on her back and stretched out lazily, watching him eat and pass pieces over to the cat.

"Snooped through your mail of course." she pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You never told me you went to Degrassi. I mean, Toronto, yeah, but never any more specific." Marco swallowed noisily and poked at the shrimp in the box, looking for an excuse not to make eye contact. He hated these conversations.

"Anne...not tonight."

The bored looking woman snorted and started undoing all the clasps on her boots as she rolled her eyes up at him. "As if you would talk about it in the first place. Lord knows I've tried in the last five years." She finally got all the buckles open and she tugged the shoes off before she crawled around him, lying on the unoccupied side of the bed. "But I won't question you," she muttered shrugging out of her jeans as she spoke. "Do you mind if I stay tonight? It's rent day tomorrow."

Marco nodded even though she couldn't see him as his back was turned her way and gave the last bite of food to Tully before getting up to throw the box away. On the way back over he hastily discarded his shirt and pants, grabbing a pair of very old, black pajama bottoms from the chest of drawers in the far corner, hopping like an idiot to get into them before he came to lie down next to what he considered his best friend.

Tully crawled over him, claws digging into his bare back, and settled between the two of them like a small child and curling up to the planes of his stomach for warmth. Anne sat up briefly to kiss his forehead before she flipped onto her other side, leaving Marco to stare at her back and try to get back to sleep.

He sighed. Anne had to be the closest thing to a family he had anymore. His rather erratic lifestyle didn't leave much time for friends. After moving from Degrassi he had been in a myriad of different places and different jobs. First was the janitor gig at the night club in London. That was when he decided that it would perhaps be easier to leave Canada altogether. Next was the waiter position in Syracuse. Convenience store in Albany. Waiter again in Hartide. Now...now the post office in New York City. Yes, his life wasn't exactly a basket of roses, but really, it never had been in the first place, which was why he had left.

Marco burrowed further into his pillow, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. Going back tonight had been such a stupid thing to do, he mused in frustration. What had he thought he would find there? Ellie? A home? He had things here...Anne, a different atmosphere. He didn't have money. He didn't have love, but at least he didn't have as many memories to weigh him down.

_"What would you know, Marco? Huh! You have no idea! And you definitely have no right to tell me how to handle this situation or my life in general!"_

Tully climbed up his arm, curling into a ball under his chin, soaking up the warmth and giving it all at once as if he had heard the phantom voices in his head and was offering comfort.

Dylan had been there, he thought. Dear God that had been the shock of his piss poor existence. What a picture he must have made with his thin, ragged clothes and stringy hair and a body made of nothing but bones. He must have looked like the proverbial scarecrow with its awkwardly sewed together parts and straw hair. And there Dylan had been with his statuesque figure and perfect smile and perfect eyes...so very untouched from the past. So blessedly naive. That had been a shock too. Was he the only one who had known? Was he the only one who cared?

From down the hall a glass broke and Marco jumped, scaring the cat lying on his collarbone. He shook his head, mad at himself for even letting all of this get to him. It was all in the past...where it belonged, and where it should stay.

A shift on the bed signalled Anne turning over and seconds later a gentle hand wrapped around his waist and deep breathing ghosted across his shoulder. Marco smiled softly, cursing the snow outside, and pulled Anne closer, finally giving into the leaden feeling in his limbs and eyelids, nodding off within seconds to leave his troubling thoughts behind.

He dreamed of red hair and smudged eyeliner.

* * *

**Please** review. I'm nervous as hell about this one. And remember...I have another chapter waiting. :)

Melissa- thank you SO very much for your help. It was...indespensible, and I owe you greatly for helping me out with my baby like this even though you're SO very busy. **Thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

Told you I'd try to hurry! lol. I got ten reviews so here it is. Can I have another ten? I promise it'll be good. :) (hopefully)

**Melissa-** thanks. Again. I'm hoping to send you more...soon. I've got a present to do first then it's all the project again. Really dear, thanks. It means a lot. It means even more that you like it.

**Jade-** Katie doesn't rock that much. But thanks for the review anyway! I'll see you tonight.

**FairyDust007**- you've been giving me a whole lot of reviews lately! Oh wow, thank you very much. I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations.

**Lucy**- Here it is love. I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough so you could read it before leaving. I hope you enjoy it regardless. I post to make you happy. lol

**megaotaku**- Thank you for the review! I hope you continue to like it.

**lanakael**- Oh my gosh you're back! You give the greatest comments of all time I swear. Thank you SO much.

**Kayli-** I'm here! I'm updating! I'm very glad you love it.Youre birthday present is...erm, in progress. Can't wait to do the rpg chat tomorrow.

**gulhawk02**- here you go hun. Thanks for the comment.

**Lillei-** oh thank you so very much. I can't say anything about the plot line as of yet but I like your speculations as well as your kind words. Thanks.

**Christina-** aw dear. It's nothing like that. Yes, I do have a beta, but she's an English major you see. I still love talking to you. I always wondered why we lost contact. Email me or something okay? I miss you. (And you're not useless. pssh. Far from it.)

If I missed anyone, I'm sorry. It wasn't meant.

* * *

"Mr. Del Rossi!"

Marco sluggishly opened his eyes, a headache of infinite proportions that felt suspiciously like a head cold pounding behind his temples. A splash of pink fanned over his throat and ebony varnished fingers brushed against his right arm warding off a bit of the early morning cold. The tiny window about two feet above where his head lay allowed the cold post-dawn light to illuminate the room, and, straining his eyes upward, wincing at the pull of muscles there, he saw that there were thick, heavy snowflakes falling outside, creating a feeling of quiet serenity that only the silent snow can bring.

Just as he was writing off the noises as a dream and falling back to sleep in his cold bed the pounding on the door started up again, the hinges rattling under the onslaught and the ball chain stretching to its utmost limit.

"Mr. Del Rossi! It is rent day!"

Fuck, Marco thought, feeling as if a piece of ice had slipped down into his stomach. Anne shifted, waking up easily enough and craning her neck to look over her shoulder at an interesting angle to watch as Mrs. Dudley, the landlord, waged war with the unsteady door. She blinked owlishly, as if she wasn't completely awake, and then turned her gaze back to the worried Marco. She scratched her head, making the nest of bed head look far worse than the previous tangle it had been and buried her nose in the warm column of Marco's neck.

"Told you it was rent day," she mumbled sleepily, the tip of her cold nose making Marco squirm. He swallowed and nervously messed with the frayed hem of the blanket, trying to forget that someone was in the process of tearing his door down. He winced every time the stout woman banged her fist and he was afraid it might just fly off its hinges if she wasn't careful.

"Don't even think about getting up, Adamo." his companion mumbled.

That did it. Hearing that name, his middle name and not the fluid rise and fall of the one his parents had placed over his head at birth. Guilt. Guilty for lying, guilty for keeping secrets, guilty for cheating his landlord. Marco laughed a bit inside thinking to himself how much growing up in such a strict Catholic household had affected his psyche.

Sighing sadly, missing the warmth of the bed before he was even out of it, Marco poked and prodded a miffed looking Anne off of his chest and proceeded to throw on a grey hoodie, not even bothering with proper pants. His friend lay on the bed, propped up on an elbow and petting Tully. When he made to smile at her she only rolled her eyes and continued to scratch at the cat's ears, seemingly deaf to Mrs. Dudley's screams of "wake your ass up Mr. Del Rossi!"

Marco playfully flipped her off before schooling his features to a blank expression, holding his breath and opening the door. He was met by a squat black woman with short curly hair and a deeply lined face.

"Mr. Del Rossi. Rent. First Monday of the month," she ground out at a normal volume.

Yes, he knew. How could he forget? Basically his whole life had condensed to that day. Work. Get money. Pay rent. If you're lucky, hopefully two meals a day would come with that too. If not...then work harder.

"Yes, Mrs. Dudley," he mumbled, looking down at his bare feet, hoping that if he looked pathetic enough maybe she would pity him. "You know I get my paycheck tomorrow. I've never cheated you yet and I don't plan to anytime soon."

He knew he sounded desperate. In fact he was. Marco was told time and time again by his friends here that he was too sweet for the big city. Too candy coated for rampaging landlords and cheating bosses, and sneaky pitpocketers on the subway. He rather hated that fact about himself, even though it was more or less the truth. He wasn't all perfect after all. His mean streak was Technicolor and a mile wide if anyone had the urge to look for it. Surely no one thought him that innocent. But then again, even if he hated it, it had gotten him out of some deep scrapes on more than one occasion so he perhaps shouldn't be complaining.

"Very well Mr. Del Rossi." The short woman seemed to unwind just a tiny bit, losing what meager height she had claimed during her bout of authority. Left in her place was nothing more than a friendly, if not stern, elderly lady. "I want you at my door before midnight tomorrow. Am I clear?"

Marco nodded quickly, smiling just a little bit as if to accentuate the point. "Of course ma'am. Ten o'clock prompt. Promise."

The woman seemed to falter slightly, as she did every time she spoke with Marco, or Adamo as she knew him. She seemed to hesitate just a moment before reaching forward and patting his hand gripping the door frame.

"Ah, Adamo, I wish everyone else here was as easy to deal with as you. Get some food in you young man, you look like death, and I will see you tomorrow." Marco nodded, looking down again to hide the blush staining his cheeks and watched as Mrs. Dudley's ugly brown shoes stomped away. Only once she had reached the next door and had begun her banging and shouting ritual once again did Marco move from where he stood and closed the door, thankful he had gotten off so easy.

"She'll be at your room in about twenty minutes. Do you think she'll figure out where you are?" he asked.

Anne was up and digging in the single chest of drawers in the room, not even answering his question. So he tried again. "You do realize that anyone could see into this room and see you scuttling around in your underwear right?" The dark haired girl continued to dig in his clothes, wiggling her butt a little.

"Hope they enjoy the view then." Marco sighed and plopped back down on the mattress, Tully climbing into the large pocket of his hoodie, the warm weight settling across his stomach. He petted the lump there and watched as Anne finally found a pair of his clothes that she deigned acceptable.

Marco would never tell her, for fear of having a frying pan thrown at his face or the equivalent there of, but he adored her in his clothes. She stood there in the golden morning light in a pair of jeans that were slightly too big for her and the black turtleneck she had showed up in. Marco was only two inches taller than her, a sad height of only 5'6'', and since he had been a lightweight all his life, and had lost most of it in recent years, it was never a shock that the petite girl could steal his clothes without looking like an idiot.

He hated it really. In the big city he'd gone out to clubs before, catcalls of "pretty" following him everywhere he went. Comments on his feminine hands and feet, and ovular, smooth face. The loss of health and color in his skin seemed to make his eyes stick out worse than they had in the past. They had always been the center of many girls' comments. So dark, and expressive, or whatever drivel they happened to be spouting at the time. Now they shown out with horrifying intensity, almost too dark, and too bright. Anne had said "unearthly" once, and he happened to agree. The things were creepy and he didn't see how any of the men around him found him attractive in the least.

Not that he hadn't dated, though the incidents were few and far, capable of being counted on one hand. Usually they were distant friends of Anne's, unique looking boys she had met at record stores or piercing parlors. All bolted ears and multi-colored hair. Marco didn't mind. In fact he assumed as much that he even preferred their type. They seemed more open-minded and easy going. Of course, all had ended before they had even started, a companion, friend, sexual outlet, and confidant...but the category of lover had never been filled. A subject of conversation that never failed to depress him, and Anne knew as much.

"Come on, get ready. Your shift doesn't start until noon, which gives us enough time to go eat. And don't even start on the money because you know Becky always gives you free food whether you ask for it or not," Anne said, seeing that Marco was about to interrupt her.

"Anne I can't just waltz in there and expect her to feed me. That's selfish." The girl rolled her eyes, brushing all but the pink strands of her hair back into a high ponytail. Once she had glanced in the mirror and assessed that she looked presentable she threw herself down, landing on Marco's stomach and shrieking as a fierce yowl and a scrabbling of claws erupted from his hoodie.

Marco screamed out loud as the claws pierced through the material and into the soft flesh of his stomach. He only let out the breath he'd been holding once Tully had escaped the pocket and skittered under the table, tail flicking agitatedly. After a moment of staring it swished its tale gracefully and began licking its paws as if nothing ever happened.

He scowled at Anne, thumping her nose before lifting the sweater to inspect any damage. Livid, fine little scratches stood out against the olive skin, a testament of the struggle between cat and pocket earlier. He sighed, shoving the girl off his mattress and leaning over the side to glare at her. "You, Anne Wilson, are a cretin."

She giggled up from the floor, tugging at a lock of his hair that had fallen down. "Why, yes. Lovely of you to notice. Now can we go to breakfast? Pleeease?" she whined, pouting in a totally ineffective way.

Marco knew she was right. Becky was very nice to him. A kindly widow who owned and ran a restaurant two blocks down from their apartment building. Every once in awhile, when money was tight, she would give him a slice of pizza or a plastic container of the food she had cooked the night before, claiming "it was better he eat it than for it go to waste." And so it went. Sometimes he would repay her, little things. Sometimes he would sweep her shop for her or pay for the stamps on the packages she sent bi-weekly to her son in the army. But he never felt totally at ease taking things from her without any set way to pay her back for it.

Today however, would have to be an exception, because lunch would be out of the question with Todd not coming to work and Christmas coming so soon. Business was going to be a literal torrent of chaos, and he hadn't seen Becky for almost a fortnight now and he knew she would be expecting him sooner rather than later.

"Okay. Yes, we'll go visit Becky. At least let me get dressed before we go. I don't think bare feet would be appropriate out in all that snow."

Anne's face lit up. "Oooh, it snowed again?" The girl jumped from her awkward position on the floor and raced on her hands and knees over the mattress to the window.

"Glad to see one of us likes it," Marco murmured darkly as he looked for a clean pair of pants. The woman only snorted and continued to gaze outside in childish wonder.

"Suit yourself. Unlike you, I'm from Florida, not Canada. Snow's a novelty to me." Passing by her to grab his watch off the floor, Marco chanced a glance outside. The white blanket covered everything. Cars, trees, the walk of their building that no one had the initiative to shovel. Just a giant mass of dirty white like it had always been. Hiding all the green and grey of the world that he'd much rather see.

"Don't see what's so novel about it myself."

Anne only glared at him and nudged him with her shoulder to get him away from the window. "Go take a shower so we can go you evil snow hating person." Marco growled at her but did as he was told, lugging his pants behind him in a decidedly Linus fashion.

Anne snorted and traced stick figures on the frosted window with her chilled fingers, wondering abstractedly how anyone could hate snow, especially someone as fundamentally "pure" as Adamo. In fact, she often associated her friend with the stuff. Pure and untouched, sparkling and bright. She felt rather slighted to find he could care less about it.

* * *

Becky was a petite woman who sailed to America with her husband and baby boy from Italy some twenty years ago. Perhaps one of the greatest reasons she was so fond of Marco was the fact that she could carry on conversations with him in her native language, always saying Marco made her less homesick and lonely, like a piece of her old home or a form of her son or dead husband to hold on to.

She was a very kindly woman with warm brown eyes and wispy grey hair that always fell from the bun at the back of her head in an untidy mess as she swept from table to table taking orders and delivering food. If Marco was completely honest with himself he would probably admit he saw Becky as something like a mother figure, a copy of his mama back home that he hadn't seen since a week or so after his graduation and missed so dearly.

The same could probably be said about Anne in some ways. He never truly stopped to think about any of it, but Anne was almost a carbon copy of his Ellie, as were many of his other friends and boyfriends here similar to the people he had left behind. However, the situation being the way it was, he had of course, definitely never thought about it.

"Ah, Adamo. Buon giorno," Becky called from behind the counter, smiling as bright as the sun and wiping her hands clean on the apron around her waist. Marco nodded a greeting back, picking up a few empty soda glasses off a deserted table as he made his way towards her.

"Ciao. Come stai?"

Marco saw the woman's change in expression as she went from friend to mother hen mode and smiled to himself as he prepared himself for some good-natured ribbing. "You ask me how I am when you walk in all skin and bones. What have you been eating? Ah, and you've brought Anne. Ciao caro."

Anne smiled prettily and stepped forward, aware that if she left her friend to do the talking he would stall until they left empty handed. "Actually, we were-" she cut off, feeling Marco's bony elbow dig into her ribs, making her wince and change tactics. "_I _was wondering if you could maybe spare us some food. It's rent day again."

Marco thought that the lady might refuse, her seemingly lengthy pause was indication enough for him. But, in a second's time Becky's face split into her customary smile and was already gesturing them towards the kitchen doors.

"Come, I wrap you up something nice, yes?" Anne stealthily stuck out her tongue at Marco in accomplishment behind the Italian woman's back as they followed her as she wound through the back, listening to her chatter away like she always did.

"I don't know why you even ask anymore. You two are always welcome to come get food. I know how tight money is..." Marco only tuned her out, having heard this speech many times before and never heeding it either. He knew he would never be able to simply walk in and demand food. He'd be back to duck his head and scuff his shoe against the ground to ask for food like a kicked puppy a week from now...like he always did.

Marco sniggered suddenly behind his hand as his mind threw out the image of himself and Anne in medieval garb, demanding that the queen Rebecca supply them with nourishment for their quest to Camelot. It was rather surprising to him really. He had never been one prone to stray, offhand thoughts like that. He didn't even chance a glance at Anne who was helping put their food in a brown bag, knowing the second she made eye contact with him while he was heaving with these silent giggles she would raise her eyebrows at him and squeeze every little detail out of him, as was her way.

Today was turning out to be an abnormally light day, against what he had assumed the night before. Even more so considering he had never really ever been this giggly or retrospective before. When he was younger he had been entirely too mature for his own good, and now as an adult it showed more than ever. But the entire morning had been like being high school all over again. Childish banter and sucking up to superiors. Which, he mused, gave him the most relieved feeling he'd ever had. Perhaps he was, indeed, starting to move on.

"Adamo quit daydreaming about the cashier guy over there and help me out with the food. Thanks again Becky. If you ever need help around here you know where to find me."

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it. I'm glad to help. You best hurry before it gets cold though. Seems such a pity to miss it while it's still warm."

Anne nodded, hugging her elderly friend then stepping aside for Marco to repeat the action as well. They yelled last minute good-byes across the almost empty restaurant before shuffling down the white covered street through the mass of people. Despite the heavy snow falling Anne opted to eat outside in the park instead of another, warmer location. Marco was in too good of a mood to argue anyway, so it wasn't a complete surprise that he found himself soaked to the bone on a picnic table in the park, laughing as Anne gave a running commentary on the few joggers that had braved the cold for a run.

"Eurgh. That guy's nose is atrocious. I wish I was rich enough to pay for some plastic surgery for him. It hurts my eyes."

Marco snorted into his food and tried to hide his laughter behind a coughing fit as said man with the freakishly large snoz passed by, glancing their way almost as if he knew what they had been talking about.

"Shut up, Anne," he whispered through his giggles after the man was out of hearing distance. "I hope people make fun of your nose when you're not listening. You're horrible!" Anne only smiled enigmatically and continued to eat with her dainty little bites as if she was a sweet angel and wasn't insulting everything that moved within a ten foot radius. A comfortable silence fell over them, the hushed sounds of cars in the distance the only noise and the snow drifting down almost lazily. His friend tilted her head back to catch individual flakes on her tongue from time to time, but after a few minutes she broke the silence out of curiosity.

"So, did you see anyone you know last night?" The question was wary, almost resigned to a negative or unnervingly vague response from experience, her voice letting on that she only asked in the first place because it was a learned action to at least _try _to get her friend to talk.

Shit, he had asked for this hadn't he? Had asked for this questioning. He never should have left yesterday. Marco poked at his food contemplating the many ways he could answer that question. He could, of course, lie and say he hadn't seen anyone. Or he could say yes but by some miracle evade the question as to who exactly it had been. Or...did he trust her enough with the truth?

Marco felt his heart tighten as he looked away out into a clearing about fifty feet away where a couple of children, no more than the six years old, ran about building a snowman and stuffing handfuls of snow down each other's shirts. Anything to avoid letting her see his eyes and what he might be thinking.

Oh, how he wished so much for that trust again. Longed for it in the same way the desert wished for the rain. They'd been close to inseparable, he and Anne, for almost three years now, New York being the longest home he'd had to date. And he'd like to think he had stayed for one reason. Anne being that deciding factor. He liked to think he stayed here because he had finally found a friend, that feeling of belonging he had so often dreamed of. She trusted him implicitly, never questioned his motives, and he hoped, that maybe he could feel this one day as well.

Concentrating on that feeling of elation at the thought of such a relationship, Marco steeled his mind for what he was about to do, pushing away his caution and his fears of betrayal, mentally preparing himself to step out of his comfort zone and take a chance on another human being for the first time in years. And hoping he wouldn't regret it later.

"Yes, I did."

Anne seemed to be almost shocked he had admitted this, her jaw falling slack just that little bit, but recovered, seeing it as a sign to continue stepping forward with renewed determination. "Anyone special or just some dull person you were partnered with in history class who is now an accountant with 3.5 kids?"

This was it, Marco thought. The crunch moment. If he answered truthfully now, there was no going back. No stopping the snowball once it had started rolling. His secret past would be not so secret anymore. With a jolt he realized...that that didn't sound so bad after all, being able to finally _tell _someone, have someone know why he had run so long ago.

"An old boyfriend."

"Oooh, the plot thickens. What's his name? How long did you date him? Was he cute?" The dark haired girl was firing away questions as if they might go out of fashion, aware that somewhere in the last five minutes all of her friend's defenses had gone down for the first time since she had known him and he was admitting, albeit reluctantly, that he did indeed have a past, and was allowing some of the mystery to unravel just for her. The pride and the happiness that flooded through her from this knowledge caused her to see her friend in a new light. Even warmer and more affectionate than before, and with a newfound respect for his bravery, yet curious beyond reason. And even further down, hurt that it had taken him this long.

Marco only smiled and worried at the worn end of his scarf as he avoided eye contact, his voice lowering to a soft whisper. "His name was Dylan."

Anne's smile got wider as she leaned forward across the stone table, expecting a story. Marco sighed, feeling very much like he was humoring a small child, but did elaborate as her eyes grew desperate.

"Um, so I was rather forced out of the closet in my tenth year right?"

"How?" It wasn't really a question. More of a demand, and Marco almost felt tempted to cut off the conversation like he had done with Dylan that night when he had pried too far. He was aware the waters were getting deeper, the tides pulling in, and he hoped to God after so long without sharing his past with anyone that he still knew how to swim.

"I had a friend named Spinner. Male chauvinist pig really, but I had a soft spot for him regardless. Anyway, one day I had agreed to go on a date with a girl only to run out on her halfway through. There was a yelling match somewhere in there, then, Bob's your uncle, I'm running from the alley and there's Spinner doing his best impression of a homophobe. Not the best way to come out that's for sure. Week went by, another of my friends, Jimmy somehow got Spinner's eyes pried open with a crowbar and after that things ran a bit smoother." His words tumbled out in a seemingly incoherent rush, but he did enjoy the feeling he received by simply saying all of this out loud. Marco looked up to see Anne staring almost too raptly at him as he spoke, making him drop his eyes and blush.

"So...I was out. Closet free and fresh meat on the market. I had met Dylan about a week before the Spinner episode and had had an awe-worthy crush on him for a week or so. Next thing I know we're holding hands in a zombie flick and he's going off to college. We broke up once...got back together. By that point my mother had found out and she still loved me. Long story short...haven't seen him since graduation. Same for anyone else from high school."

For several minutes Anne didn't move from where she had been huddled closer to listen, but eventually her posture loosened considerably and she sank back to a more comfortable position on the stone bench, still maintaining eye contact as she processed his story.

Marco felt distinctly unnerved as she continued to gaze at him thoughtfully while he squirmed under the scrutiny and played with his food. Eventually a soft giggle bubbled up from his friend and the woman moved, standing and walking around the table to draw her friend in a hug.

"I know it wasn't much, but thanks for telling me." Marco nodded into her neck and could feel the air rushing back into his lungs. Wow...he had done it. He had really done it.

Before he could stop himself he felt himself smile into her hair and sweep her off her feet and spin her around as he laughed and yelled and celebrated his great victory. He had done it!

He could feel her laughing loudly in his ear as she shrieked at suddenly being swung around, beating her tiny fists against his shoulders. "Adamo!" she squealed breathlessly. "Adamo stop!" But Marco never did. He spun her around and danced and laughed like he hadn't done in years. For some reason he simply felt he could never stop. Today, today had to be a dream, because he had felt like laughing the entire morning, and now that he had an excuse he couldn't find it within himself to end it.

"Adamo! It's ten 'til noon! You'll be late!" Letting out a whoop of joy Marco dropped Anne into the snow and stopped long enough to place an overjoyed and sloppy kiss on her forehead before he started running down the white paths towards the post office like he had the devil himself on his heels, Anne's surprised giggles following him as he left.

* * *

"Mornin' Adamo. Whatcha all wet for?" called a familiar sunny voice as he swung open the doors to the post office, still grinning and slightly out of breath from running the whole way. An almost shockingly bright head of cherry red hair was craned around a door, looking at him with a smile. Marco smiled back and winced when the door slammed loudly behind him.

The office was usually a place Marco would avoid unless absolutely necessary. It tended to be dead quiet to the point it made you want to scream at the walls and tear your hair out. Luckily in the middle of the day when most people were out at work the low number of visitors allowed the staff to speak in normal voices, if not all out yelling at one another, until about six.

"Hi Stephen. Snow. Lot's of it," Marco greeted to the visible head, rounding the corner of the door to enter the sorting room, the man's body coming into view. Stephen was easily a foot taller than he was with his died red hair and blue eyes. Piercings shined out from under his hair from time to time. He was, of course, another friend of Anne's as well as a short time boyfriend from a year before, but had somehow stuck around as a very close friend unlike any of the others.

"Ah, yes," Stephen said, raising his eyebrows and taking in the shorter man's sodden clothes. "Snow. However I know for a fact it stopped an hour ago. And yet you look like you've gone swimming."

Marco sidestepped the redhead easily and began throwing envelopes into their boxes like he always did, only stopping to grin engagingly over his shoulder. "I guess you could say Anne and I played around a bit before I got here. By the way, your car is over at mine when you feel like coming to get it. Thanks for letting me borrow it."

His friend only smiled and patted him on the back before he set back to work as well, lame conversation drifting between them from time to time, but otherwise working in a companionable silence shoulder to shoulder.

Stephen was another thing he loved about New York. He'd had a crush on the man from the moment he had been introduced. (A habit that he'd probably never get over) A year went by and Anne was a constant and ever present push in the right direction. So by his first summer in the city he had a boyfriend. Stephen, for his part, had been a wonderful person to be tied to. He was very caring and trustworthy, as well as fun to be around or get drunk with. However, within a few months they had reached a progressively more physical relationship and found that things weren't as glamorous as they thought it would be, cutting their time together short, but for good reason. They never complained, never expressed any regrets or wishes that things could have been different.

Things started rolling again, unsurprisingly, and they still stayed practically attached at the hip, much to the amusement of their group of friends they went out with on weekends. Stephen still treated him like a lover at times, something that Marco still found odd but was strangely grateful for even to this day, but he had learned to accept it and take it in stride. After all, Anne and Stephen were, quite frankly, all he had anymore.

An hour ticked by in comfortable silence, visitors trickling in from time to time to get stamps or send packages, but it otherwise stayed as uneventful and downright boring as it always had been.

"Hey, Adamo. A friend of yours is outside."

* * *

Review! I can't say how fast I'll update but I'll sure try if I get a nice number. That's why I update afterall. :) Just ten. Like this time. 


	3. Chapter 3

So only half of this chapter has been beta'd. Terribly sorry about any errors. Blaim Lucy. Well...blaim her nicely anyway.

The language gets worse this chapter.

_Melissa- best review EVER. And you help me. And I can't sing your praises adequately. Just...gah. Love you and admire you so much._

_LiquidRedSexGeniusInABottle- ah, dramatics are cool though. And I'm glad his name made you laugh. Thanks._

_megaotaku- yeah, anyone from Degrassi calls him Marco. And I'm getting to the explanation. Stick with me hun. Thank you._

_lulugirl- It's been cool talking to you. Thanks for the review._

_Jade- I'm actually talking to you at the moment. lol. Thanks for the reviews and all the encouragement I get from you. It's very appreciated. You're so cool it hurts. _

_Kayli- I apologize yet again for the metaphor. It was a poor one. Let's just chalk it up to me being blonde and forget about it? lol. So embarrassing. But thank you for the review. And well...all of them in general. Thanks dear._

_Lucy- gosh I love you SO much. And the cliffhangers are not completely intentional I promise. We'd hate to see you die. And we all know I posted so quickly for YOU._

_lanakael- I'm so glad I could inspire you! And I hope your project turned out nicely. :) And I swear, I'm not trying to choke you...just...keep you interested. lol_

_ReRe04- I'm glad you like it so much. It's good to find out what the readers like in this area. Very helpful. Thank you._

_Yelak- lol. You're so great. Thank you for your kind words. And I'm just as anxious as half of the world's population for your next chapter. (no pressure right? lol) But thank you. Lovely review. As always. _

_Lillei- Yes, there will be plenty of the shedding of light in future chapters. It's hard to keep the suspense up too long. lol. Thanks for the review._

_azure266- aw, thank you. That was a wonderful review. Hit great key points I was nervous about. And I'm very flattered you see me as one of your favorites. That's quite the compliment. I hope I can live up to your expectations._

_alex- Here you go hun. Hope you like it and continue to be hooked. lol_

Onto actual writing now.

* * *

"Hey, Adamo. A friend of yours is outside. Looks like he's from Maurice's group of people. Don't know why you hang out with those gussied up preps anyway." 

Marco looked up from the pile of mail he had been sorting and glanced at his friend in mock irritation. "They're not all that bad. Besides, it's nice to be surrounded by people who don't always talk about music and piercings." Throwing down the few letters he had been trying to decipher the address on he stood up and went to see which of his friends was here and why. Opening the door that lead from the back room to the main lobby he caught a glimpse of a very tall person toying with the ropes that made up the waiting lines with his back to him.

A moment of comprehension later, Marco gasped and fell back against the door, the doorknob digging into his lower back painfully. "W-what are _you_ doing here?"

The blonde man looked up from the ropes that had held his attention and fixed a pair of sheepish but determined blue eyes on the Italian. He seemed at a loss of words, his mouth opening and closing, lips forming silent phrases and hands waving about as if trying to help their master articulate an answer.

Anne, of course, chose this moment to show up, as did Stephen decide that now was the perfect time to make an entrance, as was Murphy's Law. In some distant and unused corner of Marco's mind he was laughing his head off at the situation. Laughing at the irony, at what his expression probably was, at Anne slowly trying to piece it together. Even laughing at the fact that he felt like crying.

"What...are you doing here?" Marco bit out again, trying to gain the upper hand in the situation again. After what had happened this morning in the park, after his surprise bonding with Anne, he was reluctant to let anything happen again, especially with the surprise arrival of his ex-boyfriend.

Dylan looked momentarily confused at the question, as if he had no idea why he was there as well, but quickly recovered with an uncomfortable smile. "I, uh, thought I'd come visit," he said, fidgeting with the gloves he held, pulling at a loose string without ever looking away and breaking eye contact. "Um, Paige was the chairman of the reunion committee. She had everyone's addresses. Took me forever to get your landlord to tell me where you were, but here I am."

Marco felt a rushing, bright warmth flare in his chest at the very idea that Dylan had put so much effort into finding him, but his anger also burst back into life just as fast, squashing what bit of affection he had allowed himself to slip up and feel. You are such an idiot, he thought, gathering up his resolve.

"You shouldn't be here, Dylan."

By this point Anne had made the connection between the name and his story from earlier and a smile took nanoseconds to appear and grow wider still as she watched the blonde look down at his shoes shamefully. Marco was still glaring full force however, something she was _entirely_ new to, so any thoughts she might have had were kept to herself. It was a bit too much to give up her newly found trust for a stupid game of matchmaker.

"I'm sorry. I just...I missed you," mumbled the taller man, speaking on a sigh and looking severely crestfallen. "Everyone's missed you. I thought...we could talk. Since, um, yesterday was a disaster...by my doing no less."

Marco choked a bit at that, surprised his hasty escape had been so transparent the night before. He opened and closed his mouth in rapid succession, searching for something to say to that rather apparent arrow in his shields.

"I..." Marco started. With a sense of defeat he realized there was no way he could keep this up, couldn't keep up this cold and uncaring facade, knowing he'd never turned anyone who was hurt away in his life, and now didn't seem like a good time to start either.

"I don't get off my shift until nine," he said softly.

Dylan seemed to light up from the inside out like he'd just stuck his fingers in a light socket or had found out he'd just won the lottery. Smiling that old crooked smile Marco remembered every spare moment against his wishes. the man brushed his dark hair back with a spastic hand and let out a breath.

"A-alright. I'll um, I'll be back. We'll...we'll go out for coffee or something. Well, I'll, uh, leave you so you can get back to work. Um..."

Marco closed his eyes tiredly and rubbed agitatedly at the bridge of his nose. "Just go Dylan."

The blonde didn't need to be told twice, and quickly threw one last charming smile his way before turning and leaving in a jingle of overly happy door bells. Marco could definitely say he was happy to see him go...if only to say his sanity was still intact.

"Um, Adamo...?"

Or perhaps it was just hanging by a thread, he corrected. Marco inwardly beat his head against a brick wall as he turned to look his friend in the eye, very aware he was close to a breakdown, seconds away from just crawling into a dark place and crying at the unfairness of it all. At the fact it was his entire fault.

"Yes, Anne," he admitted. "That was him."

The woman's eyebrows rose up as she threw a glance at the closed door the man had walked through earlier and back to her friend. "Um, well, he was cute."

And somewhere deep inside of himself, Marco felt a laugh. A giant, half hysterical, half generally amused laugh bubble up from the depths of his worry and shock, floating past his lips with an ease and familiarity he had forgotten existed. God, it felt nice to laugh again.

Tossing his hair out of his eyes in one refined shake of his head Marco turned back to Anne still smiling brightly.

"Since when have I dated anyone who was less than cute?"

* * *

Marco's shift ended eight hours later and he exhaustedly waved goodbye to Stephen as he tucked his jacket closer to his body and left the building. Snow fell bright white in the dark air, swirling about his head and pressing icy kisses on his cheeks. 

Throughout the day Marco had kept a close eye on the clock, watching as the hands inched their way across the sightless face, one second, one minute, one hour at a time in a horrifyingly quick race. It was as if time had sped up drastically with the thought of speaking with Dylan on his mind. As was the way of the world, he mused. The second trepidation sets in it would come faster than he wanted.

As he thought about falling face forward on his bed and sleeping until noon instead of tonight's meeting entered his head Marco could almost feel the hands on his wristwatch slow down and sluggishly move at their new pace to tick him off further.

God he hated Mondays.

Stuffing frozen hands into his pockets Marco sighed and started walking. He had no idea where Dylan was planning on meeting him. Whether he would be at his apartment or at some coffee shop he had forgotten to mention as he had rushed off earlier. Either way, perhaps he would get lucky and be able to avoid this conversation completely.

"Hey Marco," a scratchy but oddly cheery voice called from his right. Eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair, and cursing himself for jinxing his chances, Marco turned and saw a tall figure about fifty steps away looking through the window of Unique Image Florist, and inwardly he felt a sting of something pierce his heart.

Under the overly bright glow of the streetlamp with black gloved fingers resting oh so carefully against the window and a smile overflowing with excitement, Dylan looked stunning. So very much grown up from the adolescent he had been at Degrassi, and yet still hiding the same eager to please child that had always been there. A black trench coat fell over his shoulders just so, and his darker hair sat in a wet and yet organized mess over his forehead, curling boyishly around his still round and immature face, a row of brilliantly white teeth shining his way through the dark. And his eyes...God, had he forgotten so much?

"How was work?" Marco shook his head slightly, trying to bat away the familiar thoughts and focus on the task ahead. Coming back to reality and smiling a strained little smile at the other man, Marco rolled his eyes and started walking over.

"It was work," he said, shrugging without commitment. "Don't see how it could be anything less than tedious or hectic. Have you been waiting out here all day? Tell me you haven't."

Dylan smiled a bit cheezily down at the shorter man and pointed a finger at something within the flower shop. "They have black magic roses here. Degrassi _never_ had black roses."

Marco grinned a bit in spite of himself at Dylan's almost childish wonder at a simple flower, shifting just a little bit closer so he could look through the shop's window as well. Sure enough, in the very middle on a red velvet display, a vase of elegant, almost fragile looking black magic roses sat gleaming under the streetlight. Funny how he had never noticed this shop or the flowers inside of it the many times he had walked to work.

Funny he'd forgotten that Dylan smelled like something sweet, like sugar cookies or maple syrup.

Marco felt his eyes widen a bit at his errant thoughts and took a step away, clearing his throat and trying to smile convincingly. "So they do. Are you ready to go, because I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but while the flowers are beautiful I'm freezing to death."

Dylan only nodded in an abstract way, never letting his eyes leave the delicate flowers in the shop. For several seconds he stayed that way before shaking his head and turning with a smile. "Yes. It is cold."

And without another word Marco felt himself become swept up into a warm, half hug, tails of the long jacket trailing against the back of his calves and long fingers sliding against his shoulder as the warmth surrounded him. With closed eyes Marco ground his teeth together and nodded, pretending he wasn't bothered by the new arrangement and began walking to a coffee shop he knew was about two blocks away.

The walk was a silent one with heavy breathing and rather awkward footsteps, but no conversation to speak of. They passed by several couples as they walked, getting more than a few pointed or disgusted looks, though some were pleasantly fond glances. All Marco really knew was that while he was rather enjoying the feeling of being held again after such a long time…the looks were something he actually didn't _deserve _this time around. It wasn't like he was with this man.

Anymore, his mind threw in helpfully. Pfft, yeah. Thanks.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence and more than a few fits of embarrassed squirming on the Italian boy's part, the coffee shop finally came into view, giving Marco a chance of blessed escape.

Dodging out from under the not entirely unwanted arm, Marco ran up the steps and into the building without looking back at his companion. Dylan should have known better than to do that, no matter if he had rejected him or not.

The Gathering was a typical coffee shop, complete with low lighting and lounge music, as well as oddly named coffees and desserts. Marco frequented it quite often thanks to Anne's friends and already headed over to the counter, feeling Dylan appear by his side seconds later with a wave of displaced air.

The boy behind the register, Joey, was an acquaintance whom he'd become friendly with on a first name basis because of his regular visits, and he placed Marco's order with a smile without him even needed to say it before he turned his eyes to Dylan. Marco raised his eyebrows in humor before stepping away and going to off to steal his favorite table, leaving Dylan to order and foot the bill.

Seconds later Dylan found his way over to him and took a seat also, passing over the heavily sweetened coffee and attempting a reassuring smile.

"So, plan on actually talking to me this time Marco? Or should I call you Adamo?"

Marco sighed into his glass heavily shooting harmless sparks at Dylan with his eyes as he felt a familiar pounding come to rest behind his eyes. Brilliant, he thought. A new record, ten minutes and I've already gotten a headache. Marco grit his teeth together as he replied.

"You can call me Marco. But I warn you now, watch your tongue around my friends."

The blonde man across from him crossed his arms casually against his chest and leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling its way up at the corner of his mouth. (Odd, he'd never seen Dylan smirk before.) As he sat baffled by the sly smile he never noticed the face sliding quite easily into a confident mask that could only be described as predatory. Marco hurriedly looked away, shivering at the ice that had suddenly slipped down into his stomach.

"Or you'll do what?" Dylan teased. "I'm the more knowledgeable one when it comes to mind games, Marco."

Marco felt his temper flare to lifewhen being spoken to in such a superior and condescending manner. Glaring daggers at Dylan he felt his grip on his mug as well as his self-control tighten considerably. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he spat.

The man however never once broke eye contact, maintaining it coolly and calmly, one eyebrow rising the smallest bit. Marco could almost convince himself this was not Dylan at all. Surely this ice prince wasn't the same warm and silly boy he had fallen for and adored so faithfully in his teen years. However, just as he was about to slap that smug look right off the man's face and make a run for it when he caught sight of something. There, in the middle of all the glossed over blue, was the man he was looking for, the teenage hockey player, the same one who had offered his warmth so easily during the walk here.

Leaning with an almost detached relaxing of his muscles Marco plopped backwards against the back of his seat. Only when he was still did Dylan drop the facade that had hidden him so well. With a now much sunnier smile in place, Dylan leaned forward with his elbows resting on the tabletop, chin dropping down on one callused hand.

"I'm a psychiatrist," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I can spot any little mind game you throw my way more or less."

Marco smiled a bit despite himself. "And your ego is still very much intact I see."

"Ah," the blonde exclaimed, emphasizing his words with vague hand motions and facial expressions as his eyes seemed to light up brightly. "Don't tell my ego that! He's a bit sensitive. Tends to run and hide when it's been _unintentionally_ hurt."

The Italian dropped his gaze down to his hands hastily, easily catching on to Dylan's double meaning. God, a psychiatrist? This situation was getting worse. He wasn't used to being so...transparent. Sure, he had one of the most open and earnest faces in existence, but that had faded with time and practice. But to be met by the person he least wished to speak with, and on top of this, being bared, analyzed, and figured out with only a sweep of the eyes...Marco didn't like this. Not at all.

"Dylan, I have work tomorrow. What _exactly_ do you want?"

"To talk of course," came the response, made quickly and without a second's hesitation. Marco allowed his eyes to glance up once again and was greatly relieved to see the Dylan he had seen at the post office, hesitant, attentative, and eager to please. Distantly, Marco wondered if Dylan might have multiple personalities, or maybe just a bad case of men's PMS what with the amount of polar moods he had seen in such a short amount of time. Then again, he was related to Paige Michalchuk.

"Well, not to offend _Doctor,_" Marco hissed, putting emphasis on the hated word. "But I hardly see reason to. Because all you've _said_ up until now has either been a thinly veiled insult, a good deal of self-idealization, or entirely too much hinting at things you have no right to question or stick your nose in. Have I covered it all?"

Whether a psychological guru as Marco thought Dylan to be or not, the other man looked very taken aback by his outburst. "I guess you didn't have me as figured out as you thought huh?" he rambled on, liking this tiny shred of power when faced with such an intimidation as mind powers. It felt safer.

Dylan seemed to come back into himself a bit at the accusation and a goofy smile rushed across his amused face. "Good Lord Marco, how in the world was I supposed to _figure_ you out?"

A light and heartfelt laugh tickled Marco's ears and he felt his cheeks burn. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression," Dylan said on a sigh. "I tend to act kind of funny when I'm nervous. Probably one of those nasty habits I got from you."

"Don't," Marco growled defensively, not wanting their relationship to be brought up if he could help it. Tossing his hair away from his eyes roughly Marco stared down the blonde across from him, popping a single knuckle in time as he focused on the stung blue eyes and the savage throbbing behind his temples.

_Crack_. What an idiot. _Crack. _Why does he constantly have to bring these things up? _Crack. _Now he looks upset._ Crack_. Probably a mind game. He's such an idiot. _Crack. _Why is it working then? _Crack_. I want go home. _Crack_. Wish he'd just fall off the face of the planet. _Crack_.

Dylan cleared his throat pointedly causing Marco to snap his head to attention, bringing his previously wandering eyes back up to their prior target. "I'm sorry, if it's any consolation," the blonde said honestly. After an almost nonexistent pause Dylan's eyes sharpened and he opened his mouth again, mouthing slightly before finally getting his words out.

"But...why do you never talk about it? I mean, God Marco, your friends here don't even know your name. It'd...it'd help. Believe me. There was a reason I went into this field of work after all. That was the only way Sean-"

"Sean?" Marco asked, attention grasped immediately. "How is Sean?"

Dylan, for the first time during their rather stunted conversation, looked down, running a finger around the rim of his glass. Marco could see glimpses of his blue eyes beneath his hair and he was surprised to find an intense and indescribable sadness there. So unsettling was that look that he momentarily lost track of what he had asked in favor of trying to figure out what had caused such a look to appear in such normally carefree eyes. Dylan looking up and meeting him eye to eye however, stopped his musings short and brought back their previous discussion full force.

"Sean...Sean is coping."

Marco shook his head bewildered. "Coping? But...it's been years. Surely he's made _some_ progress."

The blonde shot an equally confused look back at the Italian. "Marco, you of all people I thought would understand. Years since the incident it may be...but that doesn't change the fact that we're all still living with it. Why else..." he broke off.

Marco flinched at being reminded of his own "coping" problems but then felt his eyebrows knit together as Dylan left his sentence dangling. "Why else what Dylan?"

The man shifted in his chair uncomfortably and avoided eye contact as he replied. "Why else would you have run off like you did?" he whispered.

And there was the question, he thought. Right there. "Why do you_ think _I did? Did I really need some big reason to want to get away from it? I was so sick of everyday things leading to one memory after another."

"What?" Dylan bit out in a moment of lost control. "You think the farther away you get that the memories would just fade into the background? Marco, it's not the objects or the places that remind you of her! In the end you could have moved to Australia and you'd still see her every single day! God, this isn't some monster under your bed Cariad! This is bigger than that."

The words filtered through his mind but refused to sink in in any way, only circling his brain in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The only thing that really processed through his numb mind was the endearment that had slipped out in the blonde's emotional state. No one knew of the name. He had always liked that about it really. It was like a small gift back during their high school days, when foolish pillow talk and some grand idea of living happily ever after left room for such pleasantries.. What an odd way to be reintroduced to it, he thought.

Finally after what felt like days of stunned silence Marco blinked, once, twice, feeling himself return to reality with a lurching jolt. Almost reeling from the impact of it he felt...things, unnamable things, things he'd left so long buried inside, left to lie and grow dormant without a thought, come up like a torrent of rushing waters, roaring through him and leaving little scars in places he'd forgotten he had.

Feeling a knot appear in his throat Marco glared at the blonde in front of him and flat out ignored the burning sensation in his eyes. "What would you know Dylan? Jesus, she was my _best friend_. I had to get away! Don't you understand? She was..." he stopped, throwing his head back to keep the tears from falling, steadfastedly staring at the ceiling and fighting everything that, against his wishes, only continued to wash through him with greater intensity.

"She was everywhere. I- I couldn't sit in my room without having a nervous breakdown; I couldn't walk down my own god damned street. I couldn't...I couldn't do anything." Marco looked down at his fingers feathering a shaky touch across the digits. "I...I haven't washed my hands since senior year. I have to use antibacterial...anything to keep me away..."

Across from him he saw a blurry outline of Dylan with concern and a most disconcerting display of tenderness playing across his features.

It only made him want to cry worse.

A pair of large, rough hands clasped his from across the table, dragging them both to the middle by their mugs and careful fingers brushed soft circles on the bottom of his wrists. Strangely, Marco didn't mind this. The walk earlier...he had most certainly minded. Now lost in a sea of unwanted feelings and suddenly being showered with an affectionate touch that anchored him down to the real world and kept him from flying away...flying off the handle in anger, he found himself relaxing. The tears still coursed as fresh and shameful as they always seemed to, but atleast, after an affirming glance, he knew he wasn't the only one glassy eyed.

The blonde's face in front of him was completely dry, but the redness around the rims of his eyes as well as the now green color of the irises was all the confirmation he needed to know that he wasn't alone in this pain. For the first time in a long,_ long _while Marco closed his eyes with a hateful sigh and let the tears come.

They came for three hours.

* * *

The feedback for chapter 2 was mind-blowing people! Thank you so much! 


	4. Chapter 4

I'm back. And a little early too. Any blame or thanking should go to the cute little girl who has me wrapped around her finger. D

**Jade Danielle**- Thanks dear. And you liked the knuckle popping? Completely random. Lol. But appreciated.

**Yelak**- Yes Dylan! Yay. And oh my gosh I love your reviews. I seriously light up like a freaking light bulb each and every time. Thanks hun.

**LiquidRedSexGeniusInABottle**- Oh please do hug it! He's a lonely story! Thank you so much for your reviews.

**ReRe04**- hope it continues to be amazing. ;)

**_Lucy_**- Oh darling. Thank you. I post because you would chew my ass off otherwise. D Be proud of yourself.

**Lillei**- Yeah, it does always seem to be Ellie doesn't it? I guess that's just because she's a really good stereotype to stick in there without people getting too upset. I'll have to write a story soon with a character no one suspects. Just to fix it. Thank you dear.

**_Melissa_**- There you go again with those damn good reviews that leave me floating for days later. It's really quite crazy…bobbing around the ceiling like that. You're spectacular love. No doubts about it.

**Megaotaku**- Ah, the errors. Well, one, any and all work on any of my stories is done between the hours of eleven to three a.m. Coherency is not something I value obviously. My beta works like a speed demon and also does all work at this hour. So she most certainly can't be blamed. And two, I just really don't mind errors. I write for pleasure and not for practice so it's just never bothered me. I am sorry however if it bothers you. I'm just lazy lol. But I'm very glad you like the story regardless.

**Kayli**- haha Maybe I'll add that quote just for you later or something. Lol. It does seem appropriate. Thanks dear.

**Lanakael-** You have GOT to stop giving me such amazing reviews. Honestly. I'm going to die at this rate. You just kill me.

**OliverMacPherson** – Ah, thank you very much. Hope you continue to enjoy it!

Alright, everyone, fasten your seatbelts. The language is still here too. More of it in fact. Woo. I'm such a sailor when I want to be. Lol

* * *

Marco awoke, not to the distant sound of police car sirens or shattering glass or even Anne's hair tickling his nose, but to the tinny, annoying chirp of a cell phone, which he knew should have been odd, seeing as how he didn't even have a _normal_ phone. That in itself was enough to make his waking a most unpleasant one, but when he felt a shift in his bed, he almost screamed out loud.

Staying as still as possible, Marco allowed himself to open his eyes. In front of him was a wall. A plain white one, with no visible watermarks or cracks like the ones of his apartment. Blinking slowly, he felt his eyes adjust to the darkness in the room and he started noticing more and more little things. The blankets tossed over him (blankets? he only had one) were all thicker and stiffer than his own threadbare throw. He was still wearing his clothes from earlier, which was apparent due to the collar of his shirt pushing rather uncomfortably against his throat.

A deep and scratchy voice erupted from the silence, startling him half to death. His back was to the sound so he strained with all he had to listen to what was being said and also be as careful as possible not move.

"Hey Paige," it whispered, the voice almost too loud in the quiet, but also filling it the most appropriate and soothing way, the deep bass of it thrumming with his own heartbeat. Somehow, Marco realized it must be still snowing outside. This silence was too charged for anything else.

"I think it could have gone better." Still so soft. He realized the person must think he was still asleep.

"No. I don't think he's ready for that."

Marco felt the last bit of fatigue wash away as he listened, somehow not bothered by the fact that he was in a strange room and listening to his captor's conversation. The man's voice lifted and fell as he spoke but never rose beyond the quiet decibel he had started on, as if speaking to someone on their deathbed and calming his nerves without effort.

"I know you are, love...but you had to have seen him. Trust me okay?"

"He...he did? Um, well tell him I said hi." The voice turned from confident to stupefied quickly, as if shocked by some bit of news. Marco wondered what could have thrown the man's cool off so easily.

"Oh." There was the surprise again.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Just...shocked. I'm happy though."

A sigh. Marco didn't like it when the voice sighed. It sounded sad.

"I know...but that's not my choice in the end."

"Yeah, I'll call you back later. I love you too, sweet potato. Bye."

With a start, Marco's eyes pinged open. His movement, while hardly noticeable to the rooms other occupant, was stopped immediately. _Sweet potato._ Paige. **Dylan.**

Without even thinking, Marco rolled over in the unfamiliar bed and faced the voice, not surprised by the blonde hair and broad shoulders he found there. Dylan jumped at seeing his open eyes but hastily smiled as he lowered himself back on the bed, plenty far away from the Italian man and settled against the headboard.

"Hey. You okay?"

No, he thought. I'm cold and you're a foot away. You were talking to Paige on the phone about me. I shouldn't be here. YOU shouldn't be here. My life is falling around my ears as we speak.

"I'm fine. Where am I?"

Dylan looked concerned, but did smile and sweep his eyes over the room. "My hotel room. I'm sorry. I didn't even think. I just knew it was closer than your apartment."

Marco nodded and started to get up. "Well thanks. I need to go. Anne's probably worrying herself sick wondering where I am."

"Actually she dropped by earlier to make sure you were okay and give me some of your clothes. She also said she picked up your paycheck and visited the landlord for you."

He stopped fumbling with his shoes (which he had found almost under the bed) and turned surprised eyes on the blonde man still situated against the headboard. "She…she did? Why would she do that?" he said, eyebrows knitting together.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe she thought you needed to _breathe_ at some point."

The anger and irritation he had felt earlier at the coffee shop reared it's ugly head again and Marco distractedly wondered if there was something wrong with him, what with the way he was snapping at people lately.

"What's your point?"

Dylan got up from the bed and stood in front of the Italian man, blocking his way to the door and wearing the same expression he remembered from high school when Paige always tried to talk about Mr. O, the effect only slightly ruined due to his shirtless state and the pillow crease across his forehead.

"Look Marco-…Adamo, whoever in the hell you are! She stopped by and we…we talked okay? She told me that today was the first time she'd ever gotten two words out of you about high school. She said that you haven't had a day off in the three years she's known you. To top off this most disconcerting little chat, when I asked her if she'd ever heard of a girl named Ellie she made a face along the lines of "what in the hell are you talking about?" Now tell me…when were you ever planning on dealing with this or were you ever going to?"

Marco felt a heavy thrum vibrate down his spine, hissing and crackling as it made its way down. Before he knew what was happening, his hand met Dylan's cheek with a resounding crack, throwing the other man's balance off and causing him to topple over into the dresser at his right from the impact.

Gathering up his scarf from where his shoes had sat, Marco threw one last disgusted look at the blonde before stalking out, slamming the door soundly behind his back and cutting off Dylan's shouts for him to stop.

Twice! He mused. Twice this man had had pried beyond his personal rights. And twice Marco had reacted like he'd been burned! Who did he think he was! Honestly! Just because he was some psychological expert didn't mean he had one inkling of what this was like for him!

Marco stopped abruptly, staring in bewilderment at his trainers under a streetlamp. What if…what if Dylan _didn't_ know he realized. Dylan didn't _know._ Didn't know why it bothered him so much. He didn't know why he was so interested in Sean's welfare.

How long Marco stood there in the middle of the sidewalk and stared dumbfounded he hadn't a clue. But it was obvious that he had overlooked a great possibility.

That Dylan…as adept at his "mind games" as he claimed to be…was missing the most crucial detail to his past that kept him away.

Oh God.

Thundering footfalls echoed down the street and still he did not look up. All of life's questions were answered in those shoelaces and he'd be damned if he was going to ruin this epiphany because someone didn't know how to run without sounding like a herd of buffalo. Marco smiled bitterly in spite of his mood.

More of this humor sneaking, his mind snarled sarcastically. It really had to stop.

"Marco!"

Then again, perhaps his shoelaces could wait. Blinking in a confused fashion, Marco looked up dreamily from under his eyelashes and saw Dylan two feet in front of him, still bare-chested save for the black trench coat flapping in the harsh wind.

"Marco…please. I didn't…I didn't mean it. I swear," he panted, sounding beyond desperate. "I didn't mean it. I just…God, I'm just confused Marco. We've _got_ to talk. We've got to talk without fighting. Just once."

"Dylan?" the Italian questioned in an almost childish, far off voice. Marco raised his head up farther and looked the man square in the eye, swallowing noisily and taking a deep breath.

"Dylan…do you know _why_ Ellie killed herself?"

Marco mused that if the expression on the blonde's face was any indication, his question had been the last and furthest thing from his mind at that particular moment and he was now well and truly shocked for the first time during their impromptu reunion.

Except for maybe when I slapped him. Marco internally winced as he noticed the livid red handprint on his former lover's cheek, glowing red hot and shameful against his pale skin. Ducking his head and blushing furiously he asked again, fiddling with his scarf.

"Dylan, answer me please. It's important."

"No," came the reply, shock laced into the two letters in almost startling contrast to the absolute certainty and growing feeling of understanding blossoming inside of the darker man. "We just….well there were guesses. And I'm certain we were right. Sean confirmed most of them. So I guess…yeah. We do know. I-…Marco what is this about?"

Motioning with his hand, Marco pleaded with his eyes and started walking down the dark and almost uninhabited street, picking his feet up a little higher than necessary to avoid getting his socks wet from the snow. "Come on. Coffee first. And probably some alcohol. We're going to want it."

And almost as an after thought, the shorter man whirled around and poked a defiant finger into the taller man's chest. "And for the record, this isn't for you. It's for Ellie," he spat before doing an about face and continuing down the walk.

Twenty minutes of trudging through the snow and cursing the weather, and the state of his clothes, and Dylan, and his whole damned life in general, Marco reached a 24 hour diner and stepped inside, shaking his hair like a wet dog to rid it of the annoying flakes, blonde man entering behind him, still as oddly silent as he had been for the entire walk.

The pungent smell of stale coffee wafting between them with the electric sparks of tension mixing in…the atmosphere was almost laughable in a way, but for the first time during his odd phase of dark humor, Marco didn't feel the need to laugh at the situation.

On the contrary, he felt those same unneeded and completely uncalled for tears rise up and sit behind his eyes as if waiting for the smallest of signals before rushing forth to humiliate him further. But that time was not now.

"Marco? This coffee tastes like shit."

The younger man smirked disdainfully and swirled around the brown liquid in a pensive manner, blowing on it as he avoided eye contact. "You get used to it when it's all you can afford. Don't complain. You never notice how good shitty coffee is until you can't buy it anymore."

Strangely enough, Dylan left Marco's statement in the air and didn't comment on it, whether for Marco's state of mind or from simple speechlessness he didn't know, but he was oddly grateful for the lack of questions just this once. After all…this would be hard enough without them breaking off onto useless subjects that only caused them to start quarreling again.

"I suppose I can't hold this off forever. But before I do," he stated, brandishing the same threatening finger as earlier. "Before I do, I want to make this perfectly clear, this is NOT for you in any way, shape, or form. Not even remotely. This is so Ellie may finally rest in peace, God rest her, and you lot will cease finding it necessary to track me across the country and reenact the Spanish Inquisition whenever it suits your fancy. I am content with my life and I would appreciate it very much if after this you put on a smile and got the fuck out of my life. Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly, cariad"

Marco winced at the second utterance of the endearment and proceeded to take a long gulp of coffee, scalding hundreds of his useful taste buds away in the process.

"Whatever. It started when Sean left for Wasaga Beach. A rather uneventful beginning I'll agree, but it's crucial."

"Yes," Dylan supplied. "We assumed that was the key factor."

"Far, FAR from it Dylan. Shut up and listen will you? Like I was saying…Sean left her, and she was in shambles for weeks after that. Hell months if you want to get technical. She'd been let down her whole life. Her dad, her ma, me, and now the only person she could depend on, her boyfriend, was leaving her to deal…when he knew damn well that she wouldn't be able to 'deal' with him gone. I've forgiven him. Don't get me wrong. He didn't know…but I detest him some nights when I allow myself to think about it."

"Hang on," Dylan interjected, holding up a hand to pause him. "What do you mean you let her down? Marco…you were the most caring person I'd ever met. How could you say that?"

Marco sighed and quashed the overwhelming urge to beat his head against the table. "Dyl…what did I give her? A card game on Friday nights? What kind of friend was I? I was too…" He paused, choking on his words and working on his throat furiously to get the lump that had just formed there away without much success. "I was too wrapped up in you to pay attention to my best friend who was like my right arm. And I will….I will never forgive myself for that."

Dylan only shifted uncomfortably and nodded for him to continue, which Marco obligingly did without question, sipping more of the coffee as he stopped to catch his breath.

"By May you and I were quits…and only then did I notice what an indispensable asset that beautiful girl was to me. I spent every waking moment with her. And, I again, hate myself for the fact that during our reconciliation all I spoke about was my pain. It had been so long since her cutting escapades. I suppose…I suppose you could say we had all forgotten."

The knot in his throat was becoming more pronounced as his story went on and Marco cleared his throat viciously, stubbornly refusing to cry again come hell or high water. He flat out refused to embarrass himself like that again. His pa would be ashamed.

"You know," he guffawed with glassy eyes. "It was actually your sister who drew me out of my depression long enough to notice her. She gave me quite the verbal dressing down one afternoon. God, your sister breathes fire, you know? I literally felt the temperature rise ten degrees. And that was only her warm up."

Dylan smiled appreciatively at this but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes and Marco knew that his jokes were being made for him as a distraction, a procrastination tool…because the punch line was getting closer.

"Um, anyway, she gave me a talking to and pointed out how self-centered I was being, which that in itself was quite the eye-opener. I'd never been accused of that before, that much was certain. So I immediately ran over to Ellie's house. And we reconciled and that's when things started to look better."

As Marco reached the stopping point, Dylan's almost comically intense gaze broke off and he signaled the man behind the counter for a fresh round of coffee. "You know, it's really not all that bad."

The words didn't process at first, so lost was he in his thoughts, but after a hearty pause Marco smiled wanly and raised his glass slightly. "Told you."

"Anyway," the blonde said, redirecting the conversation back on track. "So at this point she's happy. What happened to change that so dramatically?"

Marco set his glass down and rubbed slow circles at his temples, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the noises of the diner and the palpable gaze of the man across from him.

"Dylan, you know the answer to that," he said tiredly.

"The pregnancy?"

The Italian paused his fingers and glanced up, nodding gravely and physically trying not to be sick at the table.

"Yeah, the pregnancy."

The blonde reached forward and took a tremendous swallow of coffee before leaning farther forward and resting serious blue eyes on the younger man. "So…so you knew about it then?"

Marco sighed and scrubbed a hand through his dirty hair, wishing to any deity that was listening to throw down some lightning bolts or cataclysmic events in an effort to stall the inevitable. "Yes, I knew. I knew the day she found out. She called me at three a.m. the very night she had taken the test."

He stopped and wiped furiously at his eyes without looking up. "She had been sobbing on the phone, I could barely hear her over her stereo. All I heard was 'so dead…mom…kill me' before I dropped the damned thing and went running."

From across the table a large hand materialized and grasped his own, causing the minute tremors to subside slightly. Marco sniffed loudly and dropped his head into the crook of his folded arm on the table, his left hand remaining firmly clasped in Dylan's as he spoke again in a muffled voice.

"When I got there…the carpet. Oh God, the carpet had been so red. So red. And her mom was nowhere to be found. And she was crying…so…much," he hiccupped. "I panicked and searched the entire house for bandages. Couldn't find any. I ended up having to use a dishtowel. But the bleeding…the bleeding just wouldn't stop."

The sobs were tearing out of him now and he knew the man behind the bar had to be giving them odd looks now. A second broad hand came down on his shaking shoulder and rubbed slow circles there, trailing up into his hair every so often as if torn between where was a better place to rest.

"Cariad…come on. I'm taking you home. That's it…come on. Three blocks then you can sleep."

And for some reason, Marco couldn't find it in himself to care that he was being baby talked and led by the hand. In fact, he couldn't seem to get beyond the flashes of Ellie running like quicksilver through his mind.

_Marco…I'm dying. Doesn't hurt. _

At the phantom voice whispering in his ear Marco felt his knees give way, the harsh crunch of his bones landing on hard concrete and compact snow. But his upper body never felt the cold. The hot tears, and warm arms, and the feverish memories in his mind keeping him near scorching.

The world shifted somewhat, his legs disappearing from beneath him and the ground floating farther away. From the back of his mind he realized he was being picked up by Dylan and his body didn't seem to mind this arrangement at all, turning and curling into his chest, his face burying into his neck. Soft words fell unheeded but appreciated into his ears.

The walk seemed much quicker than he ever remembered it. He vaguely wondered if Dylan had jogged him here, but he quickly discarded the idea because he had not been jostled once. A hand snuck into his jean pocket with some difficulty and after a few curses he heard a door open.

The gold light that had pressed so painfully against his eyelids disappeared almost instantly and he felt himself being lowered with almost exaggerated care onto a more familiar bed.

_Marco, does Sean love me? I don't think he does. Do you love me?_

Marco coughed wetly into his pillow and dug too short fingernails into his scalp. Yes Ellie, he screamed in his head. I love you. Why…why are you doing this?

"Shh baby. It'll be alright. Try to sleep," a different voice murmured, stirring his hair.

_Wanna sleep Marco. Sleep with me?_

"Just sleep."

* * *

Enjoy the ride? Let me know. 


	5. Chapter 5

Megaotaku- haha congrats. You're the only one who noticed the fact that he was shirtless through the whole ordeal. But yes, he was. Thanks for the review. I hope it makes sense.

Melissa- I love your reviews. They're like crack. I hope you're okay too. Lucy told me you're in the middle of an even larger project so I took it upon myself. As you can see betaing is FAR from my area of expertise but I feel like I atleast got MOST of it. :hopes: Anyway, I hope you work load goes down at some point. Because, as you already know, we worry.

Kayli- I'm glad you like it. You said you liked angsty. Plus, hey, a tiny ray of sunshine for all of us poor rpg people right?

Lucy- I fear your constant repetition of gah. It is quite scary. Thanks love. And also for the continuous "get your ass to work" attitude. I'd have never gotten done. Keep it up and we'll make a better person out of me yet. Love you.

OliverMacPherson- aw thank you very much. You're reviews are very sweet.

Katie- haven't been on msg much. Thanks for the review though. Nice to know you like it.

Azure266- you're reviews leave me floating. Thank you so verymuch. Honestly, you rock!

Lanakael- I'm so sorry I made you cry! Okay, maybe not. That was the point, but I'm really glad you enjoy it so much. I look forward to your reviews all the time. They're always so amazingly uplifting for me.

ReRe4- thanks. I hope it continues to amaze as well.

Yelak- Thanks for your push the other night, as well as for your review.And I'm still waiting for yours! Thank you dear!

Lillei- your reviews are always a joy to get. You're constant contemplation is wonderful. Lol. And I suppose that most people wouldn't go to see people because they haven't seen them for awhile…but I guess when you're genuinely worried about someone you make an exception. If a friend of mine disappeared after the death of his friend I think I'd stay to talk to him. But perhaps that's just me. Thanks for the review as always!

Warnings- still language and lots of mentions of suicide. And also, crappy writing. Yes that's a warning. I've had writer's block. Still do in fact. But I was behind, so I wrote it anyway. So sorry in advance. And it's short. grr.

* * *

"_Son, I was wondering if you know at about what time she might have started?"_

_Marco looked up from the red stained dishtowel in his hands and made eye contact with the doctor in front of him. He could only guess what he looked like right now. All red, swollen eyes, fly away hair, and white-knuckled, trembling hands. His best friend's last words were running like a heartbreaking broken record in his fuzzy, numb mind, only registering every once in awhile and making the tears come back for the time. He was reminded of why he hated hospitals._

"_I- about 3:15," he managed to chokeout."I can only guess she did it before calling me directly after. I don't think she realized what she was doing until it was too late, so she called me."_

_The doctor's eyes softened a bit. "She's very lucky to have a friend like you. She'll be just fine by morning. She's lost a lot of blood but after a period of rest she'll get her energy back. It's always so trying to deal with these cases. Such bright, pretty girls thinking they're all alone. Just…keep an eye on her after today okay?"_

_Marco nodded shakily; feeling fresh tears coursing down his face that atleast were born of thankfulness instead of the life-altering desperation from earlier. "Thank you," he whispered, nodding._

_The doctor's hand rested gently on his shoulder and Marco knew he had to leave now. He didn't want to. He'd never sleep by himself at his house of course._

"It's hard."

Marco nodded back yet again, but the doctor's sympathetic face was slowly fading away.

"It's hard, Paige. I never expected any of this," Dylan answered on his cell phone.

Almost instantly Marco knew where he was. It was hard not to after nightmares. They left no room for half asleep fogs like earlier that night, and not moving he allowed hishearing tostretch outin order to listen in on the conversation.

Mio Dio, Marco thought. It's only been one day hasn't it? One. He had cried like a child twice, hit Dylan across the face, told more secrets than his five year old self ever had, and he'd slept over ten hours, a feat almost impossible with his current lifestyle. All in one day.

"No Paige, it's deeper than that. I have this feeling," Dylan murmurmed, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Strangely enough Marco could hear Dylan chuckle slightly from wherever he was in his room. "Yes, believe it or not. The little bastard slapped me so hard I feel over. Definitely not the same Marco from school."

The tinny sound of a responding voice reached Marco's ears and he smiled a bit.

He hope it bruised.

At that moment the voices turned a leaf towards hostile and Marco listened baffled. "I don't…I don't know why I'm still here. No, shut up a second. _Paige_! No, you're not listening! I'm not on the fucking rebound! I'm a psychiatrist for heaven's sake! Marco needs help. He needs someone from Degrassi no matter how much he's denying he-…look, I love you but I'm going to go. If you ever want to talk to me about something other than Will I'll have my phone turned on. Otherwise leave me be."

Marco felt his eyebrows draw together. Rebound? Will?

What was presumably Paige's voice quieted down to where Marco could almost not hear it. Dylan sighed heavily, and Marco felt the bed dip beside him as the older man sat on the edge. "There are times when I think I still do, yes."

Another sigh. "I love you too sweet potato. Bye."

The loud beep of the cell's end button fell over his ears with the intensity of a sonic boom. He barely dared to breath, only listened as Dylan presumably stared at the wall and breathed deeply.

Not turning over and keeping his back to the older man Marco put on acompletely uninterested tone of voice. "So, who's Will?"

The reaction was immediate. The mattress moved wildly as Dylan jumped in sheer shock at the sound of his voice. Steeling himself, Marco turned over onto his opposite shoulder, looking up at the surprised, "deer in headlights"Dylan from his vantage point againstthe pillow.

Seconds ticked by in tense silence where they simply stared each other down before Dylan laid down slowly, mirroring Marco's position. "Will was my fiancé."

The Italian's eyes widened considerably. "You- you're_ married_!"

Dylan smiled bitterly and lifted his left hand that shown in the late afternoon sunlight as unadorned as the day he was born. "He met someone else. His name was Dick as ironic as that is. We still talk every once in awhile. Paige actually told me I'm invited to their wedding next month. I'm still a little…hesitant about going however."

_"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Just...shocked. I'm happy though."_

Marco winced and wished for once he wasn't in the same category as this Will. Running away without a goodbye however was hardly earning him points. Then again, Dylan had cheated and caused him to break it off a full year before his disappearance. Argh, then why did he still feel like he owed him something?

"I'm sorry."

Dylan shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Thanks, Marco thought. And you still have all your pig-headed charm.

Silence descended over the two of them again and Marco felt his mind blank out comfortingly as he listened to the people and cars pass by outside his bare window. From the sound of things, the snow had stopped. Everything seemed overly loud.

"Marco..there's one thing I don't understand," Dylan said, breaking the silence with the likeness of shattering glass. "Your stories don't mesh exactly. The man said she had been five months pregnant when she died. But last night," he whispered as if scared to bring up anything that had happened that night. Maybe he thought Marco would break. He wouldn't. He knew.

"Last night you said she had just taken the test when she called."

The darker man landed a full fledged glare at Dylan. "You really think she died that night? When I caught her so early? That was just _one_ time!"

Dylan looked utterly shell-shocked. "What do you mean?" he whispered, raising himself up on an elbow and looking down apprehensively.

"I had to watch her almost die _fourteen_ fucking times right before my very eyes. What in the fuck do you think I meant?" he screamed.

Marco sat up, the sheets flowing down to rest in his lap, quickly followed by his head, as he leaned down and rested his forehead against his knees,pulling at his hair. "Do you know what it's like?" he accused. "Seeing that much blood and that much pain for about four months of your life?"

"I had to wake up early and run to her house most mornings because I had dreamswhere she had died while I was asleep and that she I would find her in a puddle of her own blood if I didn't hurry fast enough. Most times she'd be sound asleep when I got there. But a couple I'd find that I had in fact got there just in time. As always. It was like walking in the dark with her. Anything could just...just_...pop _up from out of nowhere and kill your spirits._"_

"Marco," Dylan whispered, trying to pry his clenched fingers from his hair with gentle fingers. "Come on. Relax, Cariad."

Marco looked up through his hair with eyes spitting fire. "Quit…_calling_ me that," he growled through grit teeth.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're_ not_! That's just it! What is this? Some sick game to make me start crying again?" he burst out hysterically, feeling said tears springing up quickly behind his eyes. "Is that what you came here for? To point your finger at me and say that if I had just been quicker she'd still be alive? Boo hoo for the boy who wasn't fast enough! Well _fuck_ you, Dylan!"

Dylan stayed silent.

"Is IT! Come on! You just show up and decide you can run my fucking life because you have some _degree_? What would you know, Dylan? Huh! You have _no_ idea! And you definitely have no right to tell me how to handle this situation or my life in general!"

Marco's eyes snapped open almost comically wideand he clapped a hand over his mouth, staring at the wall unseeingly as what he just said registered.

"Marco…Marco what's wrong?"

He just…did he…oh my God.

_"What would you know, Marco? Huh! You have no idea! And you definitely have no right to tell me how to handle this situation or my life in general!"_

Suddenly his vision flipped upside down and inside out as images started flashing by. Dylan beside him almost disappeared completely except for the strong hand that gripped his wrist.

_"What would you know, Marco? Huh! You have no idea! And you definitely have no right to tell me how to handle this situation or my life in general!"_

"_Ellie! **Please**! I want to help! You're right! I don't know! But, God**, twelve** times! This is your life El! Your LIFE! A baby's life as well! We can figure this out. But please…please, put it down. **Please**…"_

_The metallic thunk of a gun hitting the carpet sounded like salvation to Marco's ears as he rushed forward and held hermore tightly than he had ever held anyone before. __Red hair plastered to his neck and black varnished nails dug into his back. "Sean doesn't love me," she cried._

"_Shh, El. Sean loves you. He loves you very much. He just needs his parents right now."_

_Ellie coughed sickly into his shoulder and sniffed loudly. "Sean doesn't love me. Sean won't love me."_

"_No El. That's not true. Don't think that."_

"_SEAN **HATES** ME!" she screamed._

**"Marco!"**

In a blurred rush Marco disappeared from the bed and racedacross the room tothe bathroom where he was at onceviolently sick. The only food he'd had was that given to him by Becky the afternoon before so he was left dry heaving early on, sitting back on his haunches with nothing but pain in his stomach and tears on his face, the feeling of loneliness sliding through him.

Sitting back against the dirty bathtub Marco took huge gasps of air, trying in vain to rid his head of the crying girl, the smell of blood, the way she always seemed to mention Sean without fail. And most of all. That day.

A warm arm encircled his shoulder and without giving himself the chance to think Marco leaned into the heat offered there, his eyelashes fluttering shut without protest. The warmth answered with a worried sigh and petted his hair with slightly shaking fingers.

"I will ask myself for years to come how something like this could ever happen to someone like you."

Marco didn't answer. He was vaguely aware that the sweetly scentedbody he currently had his face buried in was quickly becomingwet with tearsbut somehow he knewit was okay.

"Ellie," he whispered. "Poor poor Ellie. Sean. Poor Sean."

Dylan nodded and kissed the hair under his hand, thankful Marco was atleast too far gone to hit him again. "Yes…poor Sean."

"Not his," Marco gasped, his lips brushing Dylan'sneck,his words taking on a more hysterical tone as he continued. "Not his, not his, not his."

Dylan, with some difficulty got Marco to quit rocking back and forth and held him tightly, almost pressing him too roughly against the side of the bathtub. "Marco, come on. Talk to me. What's not his?"

But the dark haired boy was in no way cooperating, helplessly struggling and assumedly trying to get out of the apartment, his head wrenching from side to side and beating down against the porcelain side when he found he couldn't move. "Sean! It wasn't _Sean's_!"

And it clicked.

It was the baby.

_It wasn't Sean's._

Brain almost completely stopped Dylan stared forward with wide eyes, his grip loosening in his moment of numb shock, allowing Marco to streak past him and run out of the bathroom, hitting the side of the door with his shoulder as he went, leaving Dylan on the floor staring at nothing.

In the other room the Italian grabbed clothes and threw them on, not even caring if his ex-boyfriend saw him half clothed or not. He didn't really care about anything except to leave and to DO something. Do something that took his total concentration. He didn't want to think.

Running to the door a still slightly dazed but determined Dylan appeared in the bathroom doorway. "Wait Marco!"

Marco flatly ignored the desperate voice and grabbed his frayed and threadbare hoodie off the floor and turned the doorknob, flinging it open with surprising strength.

"Adamo!"

Marco just barely stopped himself from barreling forward and did a double take. Anne stood in the doorway looking like herself. And for some reason…this calmed Marco. Maybe it was because it was the appearance of someone who _didn't_ know why he was in the middle of a breakdown. Maybe it was because he felt like he was talking to Ellie for the first time in ten years. Either way, the erratic pulsing of his heart dulled just that little bit and his bone breaking clasp on the door handle lessened. A gigantic sigh escaped his lips andbefore he knew it he was turning to face Dylan.

With imploring eyes Marco tookin his expression andturned back to Anne, askingin a whisper, "Can I talk to you?"

Marco knew what he was doing was stupid. It was downright idiotic. He'd told her about Dylan. Told her the whole bloody story in fact. And now he had just set himself up for a brand new wound to open up. A bring new make or break reaction that could cause him to have to start over...to start over again.

"I-…yeah," the dark haired girl replied, looking more than a little worried. "Are you…are you okay, Adamo?"

And suddenly…Marco decided. Yes, he thought. For once...maybe he really truly _was_ okay. If just a little.

Looking at Dylan, at the blue eyes that actually knew now. Knew everything.It all justseemed so….so far away now. As if for once it had actually happened _ten years ago_, and not yesterday. A scar…nothing more.

Marco turned back around, smiling very wanly and pulled his friend into a long hug. "Yeah," he whispered into her ear. "I'm fine. I just…have a lot to tell you."

"Okay," she said, pulling back, and it was then that Marco saw the tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled back. "You've been crying," she pointed out.

Marco's smile widened and became a bit more genuine. "Yeah. Long story. So let's go."

Thinking quickly before walking out Marco turned back to the older man still standing dumbly in the bathroom doorway watching their interaction. With a renewed sense of purpose Marco strode forward and wrapped frail arms around the other man's slender waist and buried his face into the naked chest.

Somehow Ellie wasn't talking in his head for once.

"Thanks Dylan," he whispered, tightening his grasp a little.

"You're welcome, Cariad," the response came, blowing warmly through his hair.

Marco didn't yell about the name, just went to stand with Anne. "I didn't get any last night. We are going somewhere with alcohol. Or else." Anne only nodded and followed him out, throwing a questioning gaze at Dylan.

Dylan only shrugged.

* * *

Yeah. Bad writing. But it will be better next chapter. Promise. Review in the meantime? Thank you, all of you. 

(also, any major errorsare because my Word is being stupid and I had to do it on Crazy stuff.)


	6. Chapter 6

Melissa- Hun, I'm getting beyond worried. Haven't seen anything of you in a long time. And I miss you to top it all off. Email me on my yahoo okay? please?

Lucy- thanks for your help and ribbing love. Especially that comment on the D/S scene. Twas needed and helpful. And for being my cheerleader! lol

megaotaku- yes, this website takes away spaces when you fix errors in document manager. Sorry about that.

OliverMacPherson- I do so hope you'll be blown away! Thank you for your continuous amazing reviews.

Lillei- haha again, wonderful reviews dear! I love them so much. And all your questions SHOULD be answered this chapter. And Anne is a joy to write. I'm glad to hear you like her.

EveryNineSecondsYouDoThisToMe- haha that made me smile. And yes Marco could certainly be described as a little "woo hoo" lol. Thank you for reviewing.

Kayli- half naked Dylan. hm. Well there's more of him. lol. And look! it hasn't been a month! Even though you already know the finish you big meanie.

lanakael- haha welcome to the ninety percent of the people who think the baby is Marco's. You shall see if you are right this chapter! And you were perfectly loquatious as usual deal. Still perfect!

Jade- I mean really, it sucked. lol. But thank you anyway. And here's the punchline. And it's actually semi-GOOD writing. Get ready. :winks:

azure266- you're reviews are floating worthy dear. Thank you so very much. And I'm sorry I made you cry. I did try to...mellow this one out a little for you guys. I hope you like it.

ReRe04- I love you for the fact that you continually leave me a review for everything I do. You're wonderful.

mellowyellow36- damn, the lottery? haha that is quite the compliment. But I'm glad you like it so much.

Hello everybody and here is what you could call the climax. Lots of swearing but not so dramatic. Or atleast it was intended to be a bit more lighthearted for everyone who has bloody had enough drama. lol. And I hope the writing is more satisfactory. The website does the letter bleeding when you correct things and all those errors was far from intentional. Very sorry and I hope you enjoy this installment better than the last!

* * *

The little girl at the table next to them giggled happily and slopped yet more spaghetti sauce down the front of her pink dress, looking up with brightly lit eyes and a toothless smile at Marco. The Italian man only smiled at the little girl, throwing a second one at the frazzled looking mother. Anne sat snug and warm right beside him, her nose buried somewhere in his ribs while she breathed in and out wetly there. They'd been there for an hour at least, and...most everything had been talked about. Tear tracks dried stickily on both of their faces and several empty glasses of scotch littered the glossy tabletop...but all in all...a great feeling of contentment was finally starting to settle over the two bodies, limbs growing slack and eyes drooping as they stared out at the restaurant's other occupants.

"She's really cute," Anne murmured up from her smushed vantage point. "The little girl I mean."

Marco turned his gaze back to the small child still playing in her pasta and smiled sadly. "Yeah, she certainly is. Her ma must love her a lot. My pa would have dragged me home by the ear by this point if I had done something like that."

The petite girl at his side giggled into his ribcage and looked up into his eyes. "There's a nice visual." Silence fell again comfortably. "I just noticed. You're talking. You're being so open about everything just all of the sudden. It's nice."

He nodded and took another drink from his glass. "I guess. Ma always said I bounced back too easily. I remember the day Dylan and I broke up. The very next morning I was off and ready to run away to Africa and forget about him forever."

"Didn't get very far it would seem."

Marco nodded savagely and wished she wasn't right for once. "Thanks for pointing that out."

Anne pushed away from his side and sat up, fixing him with a very serious face. "He obviously cares about you very much. I mean, how many other people would come and help someone who'd left a decade ago? I think he almost needs you to get better Adamo."

The Italian man shook his head pointedly. "Oh, sorry, Marco. Gosh this is going to take forever. I've called you Adamo for three years."

He shrugged. "Yeah I know." Marco looked away and back at the little girl whose mother now found it necessary to wipe her down with moist towelettes. The child didn't seem to like this development, scrunching up her face and squirming every possible direction to get away. "I have a favor to ask you though."

"What's that?"

"Tell Stephen for me?"

Anne immediately looked hesitant. "Marco, I...he'd want to hear it from you."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know, I know. But I'm just so tired of telling and crying my eyes out every time. It's too tiring. You know I'm almost certain I'll be dehydrated for the rest of my life after this episode. Some shriveled up little raisin of a man sorting through mail."

"Adamo! I mean Marco! That's a horrible thing to say," she choked out smiling. "Your dark humor doesn't seem to have suffered any."

"No, he's still very much intact. Running on hyper drive if you must know. He seems to think this whole situation is downright hilarious."

Anne shook her head at his stupidity and settled against his side again. "All laughing aside, I'm glad you finally told me. I...I knew it had to be big...but I suppose I wasn't expecting it be monstrous."

Marco sighed into her hair. "I don't really think anyone was. Dylan said the same exact thing."

The girl's voice suddenly grew very quiet and distant. "Are you going to go back to Degrassi with him?"

"Anne...no. I love you. And I love Steve. I could never leave you two."

"You love Dylan."

Marco thumped his head back against the back of the booth and let his breath hiss out through his teeth. "I don't know _what_ I feel for Dylan. I don't think it's love though. Rest your mind."

A finger poked him in the side. "I think you love him."

"Well I've made it a point to stop thinking a few hours ago. It just gets everything all messed up."

He could feel Anne smile into his ribs and the black painted fingers resting on his stomach dug in comfortably. "I love you, Adamo."

"Marco...and I love you too, Anne."

* * *

Steve set the brown paper bag of groceries on the threadbare and stained carpet of the apartment complex's hallway and wrestled with the second bag as he dug around for his keys in the numerous pockets littering his jacket and pants. Finally after a minute's worth of fumbling he found what he was looking for and unlocked the door, grabbing the bag off the floor as he went and pushing the door open with a small bump of his hip.

The apartment had no lights on as always, bulbs never replaced for lack of money. He was used to it though, and the slowly dimming sunlight filtering in from outside was plenty enough for him to see by. He set the two bags on the little bit of counter Adamo's "apartment" came with and started putting the things in their rightful place.

He knew Adamo would literally kill him for going out and buying him food like this. He always did get upset when someone ever did something nice for him. He was sure the man had an inferiority complex a mile wide, but he had seen the man yesterday afternoon coming in dressed in drenched clothes that clung to his small frame instead of being baggy and unrevealing. That was the only push he had needed.

A small part of his brain accepted the fact that he did indeed love the Italian man in a less than platonic manner. He also accepted the man would never feel the same way back. For years he had just chalked it up to him being too traumatized from some unknown event in his past. And he still believed that. But now he had a nice blonde headed face to go with his assumptions. The mysterious arrival of Dylan and the plain-as-day negative reaction he had on his friend was a rather prominent accusatory finger in his opinion.

Sometimes he hated being right.

"Who are you?"

Jumping a mile and a half in the air and feeling as if his heart was about to fly free Steve whirled around wielding the bag of carrots he had been putting up. In the bathroom doorway stood the blonde from earlier looking distinctly confused and not a little bit worried.

"Who am I? What in the hell are_ you _doing here?" he spat, slowly setting down his vegetable weapon and calming his breathing.

"Waiting for Marco to get back."

Steve felt his fingers move slowly to the cutlery drawer as he stared dead on at the other man. "Who in the hell is Marco?"

"Oh shit," the other man whispered. "I meant Adamo. I'm waiting for Adamo to get back. He went out with Anne about an hour ago."

The red head felt he just might explode. "And he knows you're here then? That you could be doing God knows what to his apartment?"

The blonde man had the audacity to shrug. "Yes I guess you could put it that way though it hardly sounds accurate."

Steve glared at Dylan and heatedly started putting the things up again. "Fine by me, but the second I get permission I will gladly haul your ass out of this building."

"I understand."

Now Stephen had had his fair share of fights. He wasn't a natural redhead by any means but he wasn't going to disillusion himself by thinking he didn't have the temper to match, and this man was hardly winning any points in his favor being so damn chummy and cordial. "Who are you anyway?" he roared. "I know you dated him back who knows when but I hardly can see why you'd be here other than to screw him and leave again."

For some reason that shocked the blonde man. His eyes got unaccountably wide and his skin went pale. "You've got to understand. Those are not my intentions. At all. I just want to help him."

He knew he was starting to act out of line but Stephen couldn't find it in himself to stop. "Help him? Fuck. Is that what they're calling it now?"

The blonde was standing much more closely now and he was looking panicked. "No, please, try to understand. Adamo has been through a lot. That's why he never talks about it. I want to help him. Being with him like that had never crossed my mind."

Steve believed him, as odd as that seemed. "Then why in the hell does Adamo look like a goddamned caged animal every time you're around?"

"Because I know things he doesn't like to remember."

Again, he believed him. This was crazy. What was _with_ this guy? Very slowly Steve looked the man up and down and sized him up, finally rising to meet his eyes, which, he gleefully added, were a good half a foot below his.

"Fine. You fuck with his heart, I fuck with your face."

Dylan only nodded.

Stephen put up the last bit of food and grabbed one of the carrot sticks, turning and leaning against the counter, eating it loudly and glaring at the other man who had yet to move at all. The little wanker. God did he even blink? No matter. Stephen finished off the vegetable with a flourish and hardened his glare that little bit more as settled more comfortably against the counter.

"Are you going to continue staring at me like an art exhibit until Adamo gets back or what?"

"Yeah sure."

The Dylan guy cracked and growled, landing the beginnings of a glare at him as he grit his teeth. Well there it was. Returned fire.

Hell if he was leaving now.

* * *

"Marco, tell me about Ellie."

Marco's steps faltered the smallest bit and he cast a guarded glance at the woman. They were walking home hand in hand. The snow had started up again five minutes ago, falling only sparsely and feather soft. They shared his single scarf, wrapping it loosely between the two of them and giggling when they got odd looks and trying to walk in sync so as not to fall down.

"Truthfully?" he wondered out loud. "She was like you."

"In what way?" Anne asked, rubbing a slow circle on the back of his hand.

"Um, well, for one, she was terribly nice even though you wouldn't know it when you first met her. You know that bored face you're always making? Carbon copy of El's. She hated to go out of her way to talk to people but if you took the first step she stood by you forever. How am I doing so far?"

Anne smiled and squeezed his hand. "Perfect. What did she look like?"

Marco smiled too, but his was tinged with sadness. "She was very beautiful just like you. Bright red hair. Gold eyes. Real small girl. And when she smiled..." Marco paused and cleared his throat pointedly. "Erm, she dressed kind of like you do most of the time. All those plaid skirts and layered dark clothes. She wanted to be different basically. I suppose in Degrassi that was a rather big deal. She wouldn't have stuck out so much in the big city but it was just right for her where she lived."

Looking up he noticed they were nearing their apartment building and he sighed. He really didn't feel much like seeing Dylan right now, especially with the alcohol running through his bloodstream. Then again, Dylan had been a grounding influence for him ever since he came here, as well as a source of chaos. One giant oxymoron that man was. He didn't recall him ever being so complicated when they were younger. But...time changed people. Sometimes for the better.

He was still trying to figure out whether his was positive or not.

"Dylan hasn't left," Anne pointed out.

"How do you know?"

" I don't."

Marco only nodded and continued trudging through the snow. He didn't question Anne. That was just something you didn't do. You never questioned Ellie either.

The rest of the walk was quiet as they climbed the stairs and walked down the halls. The door was slightly ajar. Yes, didn't question her at all.

"Psychic people are annoying."

"Love you too."

Opening the door completely Marco was met by an odd sight. A still conspicuously shirtless Dylan stood in the middle of his now almost dark apartment staring at a seething Stephen who was propped against the counter playing with the spikes on his bracelets and all out glaring. He didn't even want to know what murderous thoughts were running through his head.

_"Steve,_ what are you doing here?"

The red haired man's eyes never left the older man across from him but his answer was atleast directed at Marco. "I came to say hi and get my car. Found_ this _here though."

Marco swallowed and slowly moved to stand between the two men casting worried glances between all three occupants of the room. "Um, yes. He stayed here with me last night."

Stephen's eyes bulged unpleasantly and Marco slapped a hand to his forehead. "No! Not like that! I was upset...I mean- NO! Not like that either! Gosh, I mean that we talked last night, I got upset and he made sure I got home in one piece. Nothing...below the belt going on at all. I swear."

For a split second Marco wondered why he was defending so much. Why he cared. Him and Stephen were over. As were he and Dylan. Why was he trying so hard to make sure they got the right idea?

Stephen for his part atleast understood what was going on by this point and nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched noticeably. The Italian exhaled loudly in relief and closed his eyes. Steve moved away from the counter and stood beside him. A warm hand laid softly on the small of his back possessively and he whispered in his ear. "Watch out for him, Adamo. Don't let him hurt you."

Marco kept his eyes closed and wished the hand would move. A dry brush of lips feathered across his cheek and he bit his lip to keep from shouting at him. His eyes didn't open again until he felt the body beside him disappear and a door close.

Turning to Anne he gave her a pleading expression. "Please...tell him for me."

Anne looked worriedly at Dylan and then back to her friend, knowing this wasn't good. "Alright. He'll be back you realize."

Marco nodded and wished he could go to sleep again. "Yeah...I know."

The petite woman also walked towards him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before she left with her quiet good byes, but the first stayed in his mind.

"Would I be sticking my foot in my mouth to say you dated this guy?"

Marco turned to Dylan and glared at him. "Like you care about what you say. And yes I did. It didn't work out," he muttered, walking to the corner where his bed sat and started taking off his boots.

"You mean for you it didn't. He hardly looked less than star struck when I spoke with him."

Boots finally off the Italian man yanked his hoody and shirt off in one swift move. "Steve doesn't like me."

"Damn right. He loves you."

Marco was on his feet and inches away from the blonde man in an instant, eyes spitting fire. "What _is_ it with you people? Why does everyone think that everyone loves me? I'm just me! I'm nothing! Nothing but a broken, wretched..."

"Marco stop," Dylan warned, his eyes turning from stony to concerned in an instant.

"...worthless, poor, too late..."

"Dammit stop!" the blonde roared grabbing hold of his upper arms in a surprisingly gentle hold and shaking.

"...hurtful, cowardly, can't ever love anyone enough..._bastard_..." Marco finally choked out, falling against the firm body in front of him bonelessly and breathing in and out raggedly. "I'm nothing to be in love with," he finished tiredly.

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his back and linked, holding him there without a chance of escape and Marco wished he hadn't allowed himself to end up here. "I'm sorry you think that."

Marco only pressed his forehead more firmly against the chilled skin and hated the fact that he was so weak. That he was hurting Steve. That he was hurting anybody really. Stephen had been there for him from the very beginning and obviously loved him so dearly for the many unknown reason he happened to be blind too, and he hated himself for not being able to understand.

"You're someone that I always thought it was impossible not to love," Dylan whispered into his hair.

His fingers against his will curled and dug into the man's back as he tried to keep from crying again. No one had ever said that to him. He knew certain things. Anne loved him. Steve loved. His ma and pa loved him. Ellie had once loved him. And...so had Dylan. All of these people, so many of them, all loved him. But...what if he messed up?

_Do you love me?_

Ellie had died. She had loved him and she had died.

What if he messed up?

Minutes ticked by and Marco stayed still except for his breathing and simply allowed himself to be held by someone bigger than him, giving in to a wave of nostalgia and accepting the freely given comfort. It had been too long he knew, since he had allowed such things...but he couldn't seem to bring himself to pull away from the warmth and the smells and the feeling...

Finally after what felt like years Marco moved away and blinked up lazily. "I should probably go buy some food. Unless you feel like eating some three year old mayonnaise."

Dylan seemed to be...waking up, for lack of a better description, his eyes heavy and expression dreamy as he tried to focus. "What are you talking about? Stephen, or whoever he is, came by with your food earlier."

"What!" Marco shouted, running to his tiny kitchenette and throwing the fridge open, only to roar and slam it shut seconds later. "I cannot believe him!"

"I'm confused."

"The moron went and bought me food!"

"_Still_ not seeing the problem."

Marco growled low under his breath and rolled his eyes, grateful their little...embrace earlier seemed to be forgotten as quickly as it had started. "The _problem _is that he used his own money."

"Ah, you still don't like people to buy you things do you? Wondered if you'd ever get over that."

"But...it's not like he's got the money to spare Dylan! None of us do!"

Dylan sighed and sat himself on the floor against the wall facing the smaller man. "It's a nice gesture. He cares about you. I paid for your coffee yesterday. You didn't seem too upset by that."

Marco smiled apologetically through his curtain of hair and laughed a tiny bit. "I was mad at you."

"Either way, accept it the same way. Some people, as crazy as it is, like to spend money on people they love and care and worry about. And if you ask me, bravo to him. You look half starved."

" I resent that," Marco said petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest to look mad as much as to cover up his nonexistent stomach.

"And I resent the fact that you don't eat enough. So come on, I'll make you something."

The Italian man's eyes got round at that. "You cook now too?"

"Hey, now_ I _resent that."

Marco smiled beatifically and jumped up off the ground and made himself comfortable on the counter top as he watched his long ago lover bustle around his kitchen and make him dinner with the food bought by his not so long ago boyfriend. Life was ironic like that. He almost wanted to giggle.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing. And what are you planning on burning this evening?"

"I do not burn anything. There were some good things about Will thank you."

That kind of punctured the good mood slightly. "So Will was the good influence. How did he manage it?"

"Because he was a worst cook than I was. That's how."

This caused Marco to explode into a helpless fit of laughter, from which he didn't recover for several minutes, until he almost fell off the counter in the middle of his giggles.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up. But I had to find a way to _eat_ thank you very muchThe prospect of eating microwavable pizza for the rest of my life just sucked."

The lighthearted banter was kept at a steady pace throughout the rest of making dinner and even well through eating it. Marco was grateful for this new development and found that Dylan could indeed cook when he set his mind to it. However as they were throwing away their paper plates (shame to eat good food on such things really) Marco noticed the look on Dylan's face and swallowed painfully.

"Let me guess, the infamous words. We need to talk right?"

Dylan smiled weakly. "Yeah something like that."

Marco waved a hand dismissively and shuffled away towards his bed. "Whatever, but I'm going to lie down while we dissect me all over again. God, this is too much for only two days of my life," he whined as he laid down on his back and threw a hand over his eyes to block out what was left of the dying sun. The bed dipping beside him signaled Dylan's appearance and he willed his breathing to slow down as he mentally prepared himself for the questions. He thought he should probably stop resisting so much. Fighting always made the eventual telling so much more painful.

Rough fingers suddenly brushed his shoulder, light and dry like parchment, and glided down his arm with the smallest amount of pressure before they found his own hand, curling around the digits and holding tightly there. Marco gave in and squeezed his hand in acceptance. He could almost imagine the soft smile on Dylan's face.

"This...is the last of the questions I think. And after this..." he paused, and Marco could hear him swallow beside him. "And after this I'll leave if you so wish it."

Marco almost wanted to tell him no just then. Almost. Not quite.

"Who was the father?"

Marco felt a pang hit his body at the question. He had seen it coming...but then he had also wished so fervently to never hear it. He opened his eyes slowly, the lashes fluttering in trepidation and he caught the ice blue eyes of the man he once loved. Pressure on his hand reminded him just where they were, what they were talking about, and...what he had to answer.

"Marco...please. I promise, I won't bother you after this. I just need to know. Was it...was it yours?"

The snow. The snow, he realized, must have stopped. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He could hear the stop and go of cars. He could hear his breathing, Dylan's breathing.

He could hear his heart breaking.

Clenching his eyes shut, Marco felt himself lose himself and crush Dylan's hand in his grip as he whispered.

"You."

Review. _Please. _


	7. Chapter 7

megaotaku- sorry for the confusion. But it had to happen lol. I hope you continue to like it.

Kayli- thank you so very much for your help with the plot on this one. And well...you already know what happens so yeah.

EveryNineSecondsYouDoThisToMe- haha thank you very much. Being in the same list as Melissa is quite an honor. And I'm sure the BAM moments have finally ended. Hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Melissa- I haven't emailed you. I feel bad. And I miss you. And just...yeah. Get on sometime for me okay?

Lucy- thanks for giving me stuff to get me back in the mood and listening to me whine and complain about this stupid thing.

azure266- haha I continually adore your reviews. Thank you very much.

Lillie- congrats, that's got to be the funniest and most informative review I've ever gotten. Thank you. It made my day.

lanakael- haha you're reviews are awesome as well! I'm glad you enjoy it so much.

oliverMacPherson- thanks again. Love your reviews.

ReRe04- I'm very glad you like this story so much. Or that you can relate it to real life. Thanks again!

Blah blah still language blah blah. I'd like to recommend however rereading the previous chapters. It gets confusing. Especially considering I am slow to post.

* * *

"Marco...please. I promise, I won't bother you after this. I just need to know. Was it...was it yours?" 

The snow. The snow, he realized, must have stopped. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He could hear the stop and go of cars. He could hear his breathing, Dylan's breathing.

He could hear his heart breaking.

Clenching his eyes shut, Marco felt him lose himself and crush Dylan's hand in his grip as he whispered.

"You."

Marco wished to God that he could take back five seconds of his life. Just five. Because the amazing pressure that had suddenly gripped his own hand...almost killed him. Not in the sense that it hurt. He was far too gone at the moment to feel anything as trivial as that. But in the sense that he was now going to have witness the reaction of a desperate and heartbroken man. One, that if he was completely honest with himself, that he cared for very much even after such a long time.

"I'm...I'm _so_ sorry," he started, his voice barely a whisper and the low notes disappearing completely. "I shouldn't have. I-.."

"No," Dylan cut off angrily. "Don't even start."

The blonde's words effectively stopped him, but it was the way the man's eyes had looked as they made that brief contact with his own. It had been a split second of helplessness and uncertainty as well as shock and disbelief. Marco could not even think of words to describe that brief moment, when he had to admit to knowing all of this...all of this and never telling. Fighting against the self-loathing that was beginning to rise up he closed his eyes tightly, concentrating on only his breathing instead of the man's reaction for the time being.

"I'm... glad you've told me," Dylan whispered, finally looking back up at the younger man after several minutes. "I'm just...trying to figure it out is all. How...how in the _world? _Is this even possible?"

Marco allowed his eyes to open and he stared dazedly into the blue eyes as they stared back asking the silent question again and again. He sighed.

"It was an accident. She told me the whole story the night she first...tried. I- she said it was a few days after she found out Sean wouldn't be coming back ever again. She was upset. And so were you. She had found you at a college party drunk out of your mind and dancing, making out with anything that had an X and Y chromosome. And...and she told me that at that point you atleast knew who she was and started dancing with her. Said that you kept talking about me. That's all you would say is 'I'm an ass. Marco's gone. Such an idiot.' You were on the rebound...and, I suppose, basically, so was she."

Dylan had long since broken eye contact at the mention of him being pissed during college and was now steadfastedly staring at the pillow case, scowling at it, his hand still firmly grasping his. "So by the end of the night...Ellie had had enough and just...pushed you against a wall and...things happened. Next thing she knows it's the next morning and you're out cold next to her in your dorm room. She ran home and tried to never think about it again."

The blonde was now full out glaring into space. "But how could I not remember! You don't just have sex with a girl and forget it ever happened! Jesus Christ!"

"Actually," Marco whispered, his voice squeaking slightly at the murderous expression on Dylan's face. "It's kind of common. Alcohol makes you forget everything if you've had a large amount. And Ellie told me she had never seen you that drunk. Your nineteenth birthday included. You don't remember more than half of that night. It's amazingly plausible you wouldn't remember. In fact a best friend who, as far as I knew, was still a virgin getting pregnant is pretty hard evidence to the contrary. She was far from being as smashed as you...she remembered. It happened."

Marco could only watch as the cogs turned in Dylan's mind as he tried to make sense of the story. His brows drew together and his eyes took on an intense burning quality that made Marco feel slightly breathless and ashamed in the presence of. "Look she just...she knew it was an accident. She..._wanted_ everyone to think it was Sean's. Don't be angry because you didn't know."

Dylan looked up with almost unheard of slowness, blue fire shining out from beneath the dark shadows caused by his hair. "No," he whispered. "I understand. I...it's just...I was a _dad_ and I didn't even know. That was...that was the one thing I knew I could never have." The older man's whispers trailed off, but his eyes remained firmly on Marco's with the same blazing ardor. He shook his head woefully, stray curls bouncing into his eyes as he mouthed soundless sentences, before looking up again.

"I...I could have had a _family_, Marco."

For years to come that declaration would be one that he'd still remember. The sight Dylan had made, completely undone and torn apart from a future he might never have as well as knowing the circumstances behind one of his friend's deaths, that was brought about by his own rash actions no less...it was something that would always be hard to bear.

Sighing sadly Marco scooted over what little space that still remained between them and rested his head under the blonde's chin, wrapping thin arms around what part of the man's torso he could. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I really am.

"I had...I had even offered to take the baby myself when it was born. Tell everyone it was mine...just for her to be happy, to not worry. And...and I suppose, selfishly, to make myself happy. But...in the end...I was still too late. No matter how many times I told her I would take care of everything, that she wouldn't have to worry..."

Rough hands had begun running through his hair, still shakily, and he wanted to cry at the small amount of peace this action gave him. They must have been quite a sight, he thought. Two entirely too emotional adult men lying in a bed, holding each other, crying, and simply trying to offer comfort as much as receive it. But hopefully, his mind added, this would be the last of it, the last of this depressing topic.

The hushed pitter patter of rain breezed through the air almost two hours later, bringing with it an odd forced calm. Marco sat up slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping man beside him. He stared down at him warmly, too tired and frustrated to even smile but grateful he felt the need to.

He eased himself up to his knees and peered out the window, down to the icy streets below. Sure enough, it was rain that was falling, mixed snow as it fell. Didn't they say this was a bad omen? Somehow it didn't feel like it, he though, staring out at the few people walking around to late dinners or a drinking session with their coworkers, balancing newspapers and jackets over their heads to avoid what little of the weather they could.

For the first time in a long time Marco was able to look out over his street and think that just maybe...he didn't need to hold on to this place. That, perhaps, it really was just a _place_. Not just some concrete hideaway or brilliant sanctuary away from the world that he liked to make it out to be.

Sighing he looked down at the sleeping figure, finding the energy to finally crack a soft smile.

People though...maybe they were things he should have been running to all along.

Giving up on his confusing line of thought, Marco crawled off the mattress, careful not to jostle Dylan and went to take a shower. The hot water rained down painfully on his shoulders and he closed his eyes, feeling years and years of anxiety pouring off of him, as he relaxed into the spray, scrubbing roughly at the tear stains on his face.

After sufficiently cleaning himself and turning off the water Marco climbed out, pushing the wet rat tails of hair out of his face. A towel had magically been placed on the toilet seat during his shower and Marco looked curiously at the bathroom door as he picked it up.

Smiling a bit stupidly, far more awake and relaxed now, he started to dry off, keeping a steady gaze on the two things in the room that were now at the forefront of his mind. The door where a man that cared about him stood on the other side. And...the sink.

_"Marco...I..."_

_There was blood everywhere, but none more so than in the sink. The red liquid slipped down the sides and made depressing patterns on the floor. _

_And there Ellie was, kneeled with her arms lying over the porcelain and looking up at him with a weak smile. What little color she had had in her skin was now gone, replaced with the ghostly grey hues of blood loss. Her lips were blue and her eyes were wide, almost comically so as she appraised her best friend._

_Marco dropped to his knees beside her taking her head in his hands. She didn't speak again, only smiled up at him as he silently said goodbye to the best friend he had ever had._

_That was the last time he ever saw her, the most beautiful person he had ever come to know. In a bathroom, covered in blood, smelling of death._

_But he'd always remember the smile on her face when he had showed up. _

"Are you okay in there?"

Jumping at the knock on the door Marco almost toppled backwards into the tub. Staring with shocked eyes Marco cleared his throat and croaked out, "I'm- I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."

And just like that, the memories blinked out of existence and he straightened up, aware that he was dry for the first time and wrapped the towel around his waist, cursing the fact he hadn't brought a change of clothes in with him. Squaring his jaw he opened the bathroom door, coming face to face with the last person he expected.

"Steve?" he gasped. "When did you get here?"

The red head raised a pierced eyebrow and smiled uneasily. "About twenty minutes ago. You were in the shower. I made some food if that's okay."

Marco stared at him bewildered but shook his head to clear it. "Uh, yeah, that's fine. Was someone here when you arrived?"

Stephen turned around from where he was cooking at the stove and looked at him. "That Dylan guy?" he asked stonily. "No, nowhere in sight."

For some reason this made Marco's stomach clench up painfully and he moved his gaze to the floor.

The other man cleared his throat pointedly. "So um, Anne told me about him. About everything really. Quite an...interesting past you've got, Adamo."

The Italian man looked over guiltily and walked away towards the chest of drawers, digging out clothes with his back to his guest, staying silent. Finding a suitable pair of pants he dropped the towel unceremoniously and jumped into them quickly before grabbing a shirt and turning around. Even after all this time he still blushed. Embarrassing really.

"I suppose interesting is one word for it. I'd rather be dull if you ask me," he answered finally, shrugging on the shirt as he walked over. He stopped beside the red head and dropped his forehead on his shoulder tiredly. He had forgotten how tall the other man was.

"What time is it?"

A familiar long arm moved to wrap around his waist and Marco sighed, leaning into the embrace. "About nine," the voice above him answered.

"Shit, I'm going to be fired," he groaned into Stephen's hoodie, closing his eyes and soaking up the smells and vibrations of his chest moving up and down.

"It's okay," the red head whispered, running cool fingers over his neck. "You'll get another quickly enough. Just smile that cute smile of yours and they'll be begging you to work for them."

Marco forced a grin on his face and looked up. "You make me sound like a rent boy."

"You're not?" the older man asked pushing a finger against the tip of his nose. "I'm shocked. To think you actually carried on a normal life with a normal job."

This made Marco wish they hadn't started a conversation. "That was rather stupid of you to say."

The redhead grimaced. "Yeah, I guess it was. Sorry, Adamo."

The Italian shook his head and stepped out of the half hug, shaking his head slowly. "That's just it. I'm not Adamo. I'm Marco. I've been lying to you guys since I met you. That's not...that's not normal."

"You had good reason," Stephen whispered, taking his hand and forcing him to look up into his eyes. "We might have a lot of trouble getting to know "Marco"...but you forget...you're still Adamo when everything is said and done. And we love you for that. I love you for that."

Marco quickly averted his eyes and sighed. _I love you for that._

"You said you were making food?"

Looking up he caught the look in the older man's eyes flicker out of existence and he hated himself for killing it.

"Yeah."

* * *

A couple of hours later Marco found himself hugging Stephen goodbye. He was not looking forward to the night he would have to spend alone but he knew he couldn't do that to his friend, whether he meant this as keeping him awake or in his company he wasn't entirely sure. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Stephen whispered, pulling out of the embrace more slowly than he rightfully should have before placing a quick kiss on his lips and hurrying out of the apartment.

Marco stared after him sadly. Love, he mused, was such a heavy hearted and loaded word. And it also brought pains and joys that most people would rather live without. And knowing...knowing that his friend probably had to deal with that daily...he hated himself for not being able to reciprocate.

Then again...he wasn't sure if he'd ever really be able to. Especially when he left his heart in Canada. With a teenage boy. One that ripped his heart out a long, long time ago.

He'd had friends who continually asked him why he never dated again, why he still had photos of Dylan littering his room months after. In fact, it had usually been Ellie who had questioned him. But his answer was always the same.

You can love someone once... and the memory can be enough. The memory can be what you continually compare others to.

He remembered having many a conversation with Ellie about that. Ellie still loved Sean even after he left her. Also with Alex. Alex still loved Jay, even after he cheated on her with half the school population. But the answer was always the same...the memory was enough for all of them.

Marco realized he had yet to close the door, still staring with forlorn eyes at the stairs at the end of the hallway. As he moved to close it however, his previous thoughts caught up with him.

He was holding onto somebody a decade away. He still thought about a blonde teenager when he was lonely. He still remembered every word he ever said and ever rise and fall of his breathing when he broke it off.

But...

...but a grown up Dylan had driven to New York City after only a five minute conversation in the snow. A grown up Dylan had pushed and pulled and fought with him until every last detail of his past finally fell into place. A grown up Dylan, not the one from ten years ago, had held him while he cried, even when it was Dylan himself who was in need of comfort.

And it was a grown up Dylan who wasn't in his apartment right now. Who had left magically without a trace.

Suddenly Marco turned around and rushed into the room, grabbing his hoodie and scarf from the floor before flying out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. Descending the stairs two at a time the mantra of thought echoed through his head again and again. He had to find him.

Outside he ran full out down the snow covered and slushy streets, pushing by people and trying to ignore the lightly falling rain and snow. His breath plumed ghostly white in front of his face and his fingers ached from the lack of gloves, but he saw the hotel building ahead and he urged on, fighting against the pain bursting in his chest.

He finally collapsed on a streetlight across the street from the building and stared at it as he tried to control his ragged breathing. Somehow, just seeing the golden lights filtering down on him through curtained windows and feeling the soft snowflakes catch on his eyelashes and listening to his heavy gasps for air...it all made the situation so surreal. So very separated from everything else, like one step forward was some great unknown...

Marco pushed off from the light and began the steady march to room 132, surprised he had remembered it all. Reaching it...he noticed it ajar and stepped forward, peaking inside.

Through the sliver in the door he made out a Dylan sized lump under the ugly hotel blankets and he frowned slightly. Pushing the door open slowly to avoid any creaking he slipped inside, closing it softly behind himself. The TV glared bright blue off the walls and over the bed, illuminating the blonde hair and one muscular arm and Marco sighed tiredly.

Moving away from the doorway he hit the off button on the TV and stood there, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It took several minutes, but he didn't dare move.

Finally, after what felt like an eternal quiet wait he could make out the man's outline again. He moved from his place at the foot of his bed and eased himself down at the side closest to the window, leaning his back against the mattresses and staring ahead. The curtains were pulled open the smallest bit and he could make out millions of tiny snow flakes floating between the fabric.

Dylan slept on behind him, deep breathing tickling the hair at the back of his neck and Marco closed his eyes imagining warm snow flakes drifting on the man's breath, floating into his hair and over his closed eye lids. Opening his eyes he glanced at the luminous red numbers of the alarm clock on the night stand. It read 10:21.

Turning his head to a painful angle he looked at the blissfully unaware man and stared for several minutes, taking in the relaxed contours of his face, the one stray curl that rested on his forehead, the dark hollow of his cheek, the way his mouth hung open the smallest bit...until the need to touch was too much. Not with how many things he had been forced to feel over the past few days.

So many, many things.

Giving into temptation he eased himself off the floor and pulled the blankets back from the comatose body. He swallowed audibly when he realized the other man _might_ not be wearing anything under there, but choked down the fear and embarrassment before sliding in beside him, pushing back until his shoulders made contact with a warm chest.

Squirming around as little as possible he situated himself against the body and made sure he wasn't about to fall over the edge before reaching behind himself and taking a rough hand, snaking it around his waist and humming quietly to himself.

The breathing behind him never changed but a cold nose buried suddenly in his neck as the man shifted in his sleep, accomodating mechanically to the new sleeping arrangements.

Marco sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the snowflakes ghosting on his neck more than ever.

Warmer. Softer. Safer.

Snow, he reflected dozily, was perhaps not as bad as he made it out to be.

* * *

Review! I know I'm a bad person for not updating! If there's ever a dry spell like this you might check my livejournal via the link in my user information. Occasionally I'll post things there instead of on here due to content or length or whatever it may be. So, there _should_ always be something to read. ;) 


	8. Chapter 8

First of all HUGE apologies for the absolutely pitiful amount of time that's lapsed between these chapters. I don't really have any excuses and I know it was my major story of the moment and I let it die. However, I've been bored lately and writing all sorts of random crap, including finishing this chapter. It was supposed to be longer but I decided if I let it keep going I'd end up letting it die again so I'll give you guys what I've got.

The only other thing I have to say is if you guys are actually interested I've been posting all sorts of random odds and ends on my fic lj which I do believe is set as my homepage on my author profile. Just lots of random things, several darcos, couple of crarcos. So that was my advertising. On to the story!

* * *

Of all the things to wake him up it was the soft sound of water being turned off in the other room and the abrupt silence that followed that had been the end of his peaceful slumber. 

Marco snuggled deeper into the nest of blankets surrounding him and smiled happily into his pillow when he realized his toes were actually quite warm for once. Bright winter sunlight fell on his face, pressing feather light against his closed eyelids.

Groaning loudly in appreciation and comfort Marco lifted his arms above his head, grabbing onto the headboard and stretching more thoroughly than he had in a long time, arching his back and curling his toes.

That was until he realized his bed did not in fact have a headboard, or even a frame for that matter.

Gasping in surprise Marco allowed his eyes to snap open in panic. The golden sunlight from outside poured in cheerfully through the hotel room's window, creating warm pools of dappled sunlight on the plush carpet. Cars rushed by noisily outside and he could hear the faint shuffling noises coming from within the bathroom.

Marco sat up; quickly taking notice to the pillows that had been pushed up against his back in the wake of the body that had previously been there. He felt the beginnings of a fond smile form on his face, remembering how Dylan had always done this back when they were dating in high school, placing the pillows he had slept on that night at his back to keep him warm after he left the bed. It was such a tiny gesture but it had always meant the world to him.

The sound of something being dropped in the bathroom caused Marco to jump and turn scared eyes to the closed door. As he heard Dylan curse softly, muffled through the walls, he sprang into action, tearing away the bedclothes and hurrying to put on his boots as quickly as he could.

He was tying the laces on his left shoe when the bathroom door's handle rattled unpleasantly. Marco watched in horror as the door swung open to reveal a very familiar person. With a squeak he felt his mouth fall open. Dylan walked out of the bathroom, hair damp from his shower and wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist.

All thoughts of a hasty escape ran blindly from his mind as Marco tried to piece together an entire coherent thought. His eyes followed the man as he moved, staring avidly at the muscles rippling through his arms as he roughly toweled his hair. Several beads of water rained down, sliding down his chest and stomach and Marco couldn't look away for the life of him, eyes fixed on the small trail of hair below the man's abdomen.

Dylan, who apparently hadn't seen him, had turned and began rifling through the suitcase by the sink, straightening back up with what was unmistakably a pair of boxer shorts in hand. Marco's eyes widened dramatically as he scrambled to make his presence known. Thinking fast Marco cleared his throat noisily and frantically, hoping to God that towel didn't drop before he could look away.

At the sound from the Italian the older man jumped nearly out of his skin, whirling around with a completely breathless, dumb expression on his face. Seeing Marco awake he slowly melted back into calmness and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Jesus, you scared me to death, Marco."

The darker man smiled sheepishly and bent down to finish lacing up his boots, throwing a whispered "sorry" up at the blonde. Dylan only shook his head in amusement.

"It's fine. I'm going to get dressed. Don't go anywhere," he chuckled, grabbing a pair of clothes and slipping back into the safe privacy of the bathroom once again.

Marco fell back on the bed hard, flinging an arm over his eyes and cursing his inability to leave in time. Now he would be forced to explain what he was doing here. He had to explain why he had been sleeping in the blonde's bed of all places.

As if he himself even knew.

A few excruciating minutes later the blonde emerged from the bathroom yet again, at least fully clothed this time around. Thank God for small blessings.

Marco sat up slowly and fidgeted with the bedspread as Dylan sauntered over and sat on the bed beside him, tugging on his socks in silence. Finally Marco looked up and caught the man's blue eyes, holding them as nonchalantly as possible. "You scared me last night," he whispered.

The blonde suddenly smiled sunnily and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm sorry."

Marco felt the ghost of a smile coming on and he quickly looked down at his feet. "Still, I just...didn't know where you had gone. I guess...I guess I was just worried." He laughed. "I suppose it's about time the roles were switched for a second."

Dylan nodded seriously as he pushed a trainer on. Not even bothering to lace it up he raised an arm to encircle the Italian's shoulders. They sat in silence for several minutes before Dylan spoke.

"I've missed you."

Marco sighed and, against his better judgment, he leaned his head to lie on the man's shoulder. "You've missed Marco, Dylan," he breathed out tiredly.

He felt the blonde shake his head in the negative. "No...well, maybe. But I knew you had changed. Everyone does after all." The hand on his shoulder slowly trailed down his arm and Marco bit his lip to stop himself from speaking. "But...Adamo doesn't seem so bad."

Marco snorted. "Well, he's a little rough around the edges," the blonde allowed, poking the younger man in the ribs and laughing loudly when Marco growled in response. "And he bites too," Dylan said with a smirk. But then his voice lowered to a more serious tone. "But...he's still a beautiful person. More so than Marco ever was."

As the blonde finished Marco was sure he might start crying again for the millionth time for absolutely no obvious reason. Is that why he was in this position now he wondered?

Why had he gone to that reunion, he wondered. Had he subconsciously known Dylan might be there...the person he had at one time trusted implicitly? The father of a child he had tried for so hard and so long to protect, to save. He was supposed to be the hero of that baby, it's savior. And he had failed. So is that what he had ventured out to find? He had lost those he had held dear and tried to save...so was he looking to be saved as well? Was he looking for a hero of his own? Or was he perhaps just looking for the last person he knew still cared for him?

Fearfully, Marco allowed his eyes to raise and he looked into Dylan's eyes...searching for answers, seeking trust, and...finally seeing...truthfully _seeing_, the man who had come to find him.

"Thank you," he whispered in slight awe, still amazed as their previous two days together rushed through his head, a different light cast over them.

Dylan smiled that tiny half smile and suddenly Marco was sixteen years old all over again, looking up from his locker in wonder and blushing like a schoolgirl.

_"So...it's a date?"_

_"You bet."_

The blonde winked in a malefic manner and leaned the short distance between them, placing a lingering soft kiss on his forehead. He pulled back brushing his hair out of his face and smiling. "You're welcome."

* * *

"He loves that stupid blonde asshole doesn't he?" 

Anne looked up from the counter, throwing the rag in her hand down and glaring at the redhead in exasperation. "Stephen," she said tiredly. "What would you like me to say?"

The man looked down at his hands before glancing back up. "I just...answer the question. Does Adamo love him or not?"

"No," the girl whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear and resumed cleaning the counter top. "It's beyond obvious he still loves the Dylan from high school. But…as for loving him now, that's a bit of a far cry."

The redhead's face visibly perked up and Anne bit her bottom lip trying to make the man understand. "It's only a matter of time though. I think Ad- Marco is already starting to figure out that he could have a future with him. And I guess when you've never moved on from your first love...there's not that many options as a means of moving forward."

Stephen's expression didn't change at all, becoming more strained if anything and Anne wished desperately she could help him. "He never led you to believe that he could ever love you in that way, Steve. He made that very clear from the beginning," she murmured, taking his hand and staring at his bowed head. "And he regrets that every day. But now is the time we prove to him what kind of friends he really has. He's been through hell, Stephen. Could you even imagine seeing that? Let alone living with it. He needs to know that he's got something. That he's got somebody."

After several excruciating seconds Anne began to wonder if the man was well and truly finished with this conversation...until finally the man looked up, his jaw set in a tight line from trying to keep his emotions in check. When he spoke his voice was very low and shaky. "He's got two somebody's."

Anne smiled. "Yeah, he does. However one of them needs to get back to work," she said, pushing a finger to the tip of his nose. "Are you staying today or do you have something to do?" Stephen shook his head and leaned forward to kiss her forehead over the counter.

"Nah, a lovely lady such as yourself. I could never leave."

The petite woman only rolled her eyes and left for the back room, leaving Stephen alone with his thoughts. He looked off at the restaurant's other occupants and sighed loudly, wondering how his entire world could be so majorly upheaved by a single solitary person.

* * *

After their somewhat...momentary lapse into the past Marco untangled himself and got up, moving to leave. Dylan jumped up almost immediately, grabbing him gently by the wrist and looking down at him with earnest eyes and a small, excited smile. "Spend the day with me," he said on a breath. 

"Dylan...I- I can't," Marco stuttered, distractedly freeing his hand from the man's grasp. "I've...I've got to get another job today. I'll lose my apartment."

The blonde's eyes burned at this but before Marco could analyze it too closely the emotion disappeared, replaced by the playful blue they usually were. "Come on. One day. I think you could use it."

Marco sighed. He really couldn't afford it. The trash heap he liked to call home at the moment cost more than he ever would have imagined possible for something in such disrepair. And of course he still had food to pay for. But Dylan's eyes were staring down at him pleadingly. Growling low in his throat Marco rolled his eyes theatrically and nodded his head. "Fine, fine...honestly, you're such a cretin."

Dylan jumped slightly at the nickname, the one he obviously still remembered from high school, and Marco wanted to mentally beat his skull against a brick wall. He hadn't expected him to remember. Nor had he expected to say it in the first place.

However, luck played in his favor and the blonde only smiled before walking back to his suitcase and grabbing the same black jacket as the other night. Marco shifted uneasily, uncomfortably aware that his clothes were completely threadbare and thin, frayed around the edges where he had tugged at them when he was nervous. Even his boots were in a constant state of ruination, always on the very verge of falling apart. Then again, the older man had one of the highest paying careers around. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable about his appearance in his presence.

The blonde opened the door and smiled. "Well come on then. I'll buy us some breakfast."

Marco looked up at the man with distrust but finally his hunger won over his skepticism and he stepped forward out into the bright noon sunlight. He listened to the man lock up behind his back as he stared out at the movement of the cars outside and wondered why he allowed himself to get into these messes. After a second an arm came to rest around his shoulders once again and Marco vaguely wondered when he stopped flinching at such touches.

"I feel like pancakes. What do you think?" Dylan babbled as he dragged the Italian away down the crowded streets. His incessant stream of nonsense never ceased and Marco was strangely grateful the blonde didn't seem to have a problem talking about absolutely nothing, as he didn't really want to contribute to any discussion. Just in case, he reminded himself. He'd had enough great discoveries and fits of emotion to last a lifetime. This easy-going, meaningless conversation was something he had missed.

"...and of course Will always thought that was absolutely crazy and..."

Marco jumped a bit and actually tuned back into the conversation, listening as Dylan talked on about William at length, vacations, inside jokes, a trip to the marine park where Dylan almost had a heart attack when the killer whales came out. It was all so...normal. It made this William seem so real to life for the first time to Marco since he had been mentioned. Of course, it had been easy to pretend that Dylan's earlier engagement had never come to be, no ring on his finger as testament and no conversation up to that point about it whatsoever. But now, out in the blinding sunlight and listening to the blonde recount many small moments of his life that he had not been around to witness, let alone congratulate and be there for him during...well, said the small niggling sensation in his chest, that was his fault wasn't it?

Sighing heavily Marco leaned into the other man's warmth slightly, for once not caring about the looks he was getting unlike that first trip to the coffee shop the other day when he resented the arm around his shoulders. Now he honestly could care less. He had bared himself to Dylan completely, every single wall and boundary and mask he had ever built and nurtured falling down around him under the blonde's unwavering presence.

And against all he had expected, he hadn't broken after all of this. He had thought, through all those years, that if he ever let anyone in he'd finally just collapse and never return ever again. Broken mind, spirit, and heart. But surprisingly enough he was still on his feet, albeit with shaky knees and a light head, but he was certainly still standing and still moving forward at the same dull lurch, but at least there was that arm around his shoulders guiding him forward. And for some reason that comforted him more than frightened him.

With a final goodbye to his disturbing thoughts Marco tuned back into the conversation as they entered a nondescript diner on the street corner. "I dunno. I always joked about it you know? Paige always hated Will so much but she would never let on how much. So when he up and left me she went on for weeks about how much trouble she had known he was. And now after a couple of years she's best buddies with him. My sister is a scary woman that's all I have to say."

Marco smiled up at him candidly and moved his gaze back down to the floor, feeling Dylan's smile on the back of his head like a physical touch. This was all so surreal. One moment they're breaking down in his apartment, then Dylan disappears, Marco finds him, and the next morning it's like years of ill feeling had seemingly dissolved into thin air, as if it never existed in the first place.

He wondered if the scenario sounded as dangerously fragile as he thought it was.

The blonde steered him to a table in the far corner where most of the patrons couldn't see them and reclined back in the booth, smiling happily and staring at the laminated piece of paper that was the menu with hungry eyes. Stifling a small laugh Marco followed suit and glanced at the menu as well, his stomach doing somersaults at the idea of real food for once. As Dylan placed their orders about five minutes later he leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I've got a question to ask you. And please don't take this wrong way. But why are you in such trouble financially?" he whispered, eyes large and curious. "You were always such a braniac. You could easily have gotten a higher paying job."

The question stung Marco and he glared openly at the older man. "I don't have a degree. You can't get a half-way decent job without one period."

"I can understand that. But that doesn't explain to me why you never got one later. You're frighteningly intelligent. You could have gotten scholarships."

The Italian messed with the coffee cup that had just been placed in front of him and glared at it instead. "I tried the first few months after I left. But I left home with barely a hundred dollars. There was just no way I could have pulled it off. Even if I did get a scholarship I doubt I could have gotten a fully paid one and keep an extremely over-time job at the same time. And...just trust me. It never would have worked."

"I don't see why not," Dylan threw in with an insolent shrug that made Marco want to spit fire.

"Well you were never there to see so don't assume things," he spat, popping his knuckles under the table and glaring at the coffee once again.

"Surely you had friends to help you. Everybody has fri-"

"Says who? You?"

"Yes," the blonde ground out, sitting up straighter, his previous light mood forgotten in the middle of their argument. "I do say so."

"Well listen, you saw Anne? She's the first friend I've had since Ellie died so you can just shut up about it alright?"

Dylan sat back roughly and stared at him. "You're serious," he pondered out loud, eyes glazing over a bit. "You really and truly severed practically every tie to real life after her death. Dear God, Marco."

"Don't pity me," Marco murmured, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I don't need it. It's over now. I'm sitting here conversing with you. So just let it lie. Suffice to say college was out of the question."

The older man nodded dumbly and after several minutes of awkward silence perked up almost comically at the sight of the food being placed on their table. "Alright," he exclaimed excitedly. "I'm starving."

Marco dove into his food at a much slower pace than the blonde, and despite the carnage of their previous conversation, smiled softly at him in amusement.

* * *

Breakfast had passed in relative silence, filled only by Dylan when the mood struck him but otherwise left to fester uncomfortably between them. Luckily Marco had quite a lot of experience with the phenomenon and barely batted an eyelash as they worked through their plates of food. He was actually quite proud of himself, finishing off nearly two thirds of his meal after having eaten such small portions for the better part of several years. It made him feel better about what might happen, perhaps yet another good sign. 

And yet that precarious feeling lingered in his mind as he watched Dylan pay the check, smiling over at him with a dizzying grin. The man was apparently very happy for whatever reason. Marco was actually very worried about him. Sure, Dylan was a scarily upbeat person…but going off of past experiences the older man had never taken any kind of bad news so well. The fact that the blonde was positively bouncing after the hell yesterday had been…well it seemed almost frightening to see Dylan smile.

The two finally made their unhurried way out of the small diner and the arm returned to his shoulders as if second nature. Marco didn't grace the gesture with a lingering thought, simply wanting to enjoy the comfort he'd been given these past few days without guilt, though he was sure he'd be feeling it later. That and the emotional withdrawals the man's leaving would bring. But that hardly bothered him. He'd dealt with it before and he had outright mastered the out of sight out of mind technique.

It was noon by the time they walked into the park and Marco decided it was dreadfully cold by this point, though that probably had more to do with Dylan's arm leaving his shoulders than the temperature really. The snow, he was delighted to see, seemed to be melting, the sidewalks coming in and out of view as they followed their winding trails. Birds seemingly appeared out of nowhere, chirping a bit annoyingly and rustling the branches overhead. It was truly the most tranquil atmosphere he'd ever been a part of…at least since after Ellie's death. He remembered many a walk with the redhead that he had experienced this very same feeling of lightness…this very same numbness that felt so very uplifting. He had almost forgotten completely about the feeling of unease that had been moving about his mind all morning.

"You know, I've been thinking," Dylan said after a long silence. Marco looked up at him in interest, listening raptly for the first time in ages, and with the attention now centered the blonde continued. "I live all by myself up in Toronto, a small bus ride from the university even. Paige is practically gagging herself to get me back in human contact with people…and well…the thing is Marco, I don't want to leave you here."

Marco jumped away from Dylan immediately, breathing deeply and walking slowly backwards as if a caged animal. "And?"

The blonde followed at a slow pace, not wanting to frighten the other man who seemed so obviously shaken at the very idea. "I mean…it's only a suggestion. But I want to help you get back on your feet. I can help you get into school; give you a place to live without having to pay. Consider it help from a friend."

"And leave here!" Marco shouted, his movements becoming more panicked. Surely Dylan couldn't be serious! He had a life here! He came here for a reason. He didn't want to go back! Sean was in Toronto! Paige was there. Hell they all were. All those hundreds of disappointed eyes waiting for him in Degrassi with baited breath to rip him apart for every single lie he ever fed them and every failed attempt to prevent the inevitable. "You're insane!"

"Marco, please. Calm down. You can't stay here. This place is doing nothing more than making your mental state worse. Come home with me…I want to help you get better."

The Italian man shook his head frantically, feeling that annoying mysterious burn return to his eyes yet again as he turned on his heel and began speedily walking away through the large amounts of slushy snow. He could hear the low crunch of feet running behind him but he didn't dare look up. He had at least learned by now that looking Dylan in the eye had to be the most suicidal thing he could possibly ever do and he guarded this newly found information zealously. This time he could not- would not, give in to his demands. He had spilled everything, bared everything, left himself absolutely naked at this man's mercy and he would not follow him like he was the answer. He refused!

"Go to hell!" he screamed, now all out running in the direction of his apartment. The air in his lungs was frightfully cold and seared his lungs with every harsh breath, his heartbeat was loud in his ears. Whether Dylan was following him or not he didn't know but he couldn't afford looking back. Looking back meant giving in, giving in to the curiousity of all the what ifs, giving in to the pain. He couldn't afford any more pain. He'd given enough to Dylan. Here is where he drew the line.

And as he mounted the stairs, two, three at a time, finally all but throwing himself into his apartment he allowed himself to breathe properly. Falling down onto his mattress he stared up at the water spotted ceiling, doing nothing more than allow himself to relish in the burn in his chest, the hard rise and fall of his caved in stomach. It meant he had made it. Atleast this round.

* * *

Marco awoke later to the soft sounds of cars on the road and small fingers sliding through his hair. Allowing his eyes to flutter open he found large hazel eyes staring down at him, the room beyond deep purple as the sun disappeared. He sat up slowly, casting anxious glances around the room as if expecting Dylan to be there before allowing himself to calm down enough to give his attention to his friend. "Hey Anne," he whispered, sitting up enough to pull her into his arms in distraction. 

She felt real, solid against his chest, her hair cool against the underside of his jaw. Marco sighed tiredly against her shoulder before letting her go, staring deeply into her eyes with something akin to love for the first time in years before moving to stand.

"It's time for me to go Anne. I've got to leave."

* * *

We're getting close to the end! Review! And please don't thrash me. I already know how bad I am for not updating. I'm working on it. :S 


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to everyone who reviewed to the previous chapter. Those reviews helped me get this one done even if it did indeed take ages like the other one. This one for some reason is a pain to write. However, here it is. I do warn that it is unbeta-ed as much of my work is as well as quite a bit longer than the rest of the prior chapters. Enjoy.

-------------

"It's time for me to go Anne. I've got to leave."

Marco watched as Anne's expression slowly melted into something like friendly affection, before she leaned forward to pull him into a warm hug. Small arms around his neck he allowed himself to feel confused beyond comprehension. He wasn't aware of why she was suddenly clinging to him until she pulled away, smiling at him fondly. "I'm so glad you're going to go back with him. He's good for you Adamo."

"What?" he blurted out without thinking, the same feeling of clawing panic suddenly grabbing hold of him tightly.

Anne looked at him in swiftly dawning confusion, quirking a sarcastic brow in his direction. "Dylan? High school sweetheart? Any of this ring a bell?"

Marco, all but blind to her words was already moving to stand on shaking legs. "No you don-...Anne I have to leave. I've got to get...far away," he paused, taking large breath. "From Dylan most especially."

And that did it.

"Adamo! Wait, sit down and stop and think!" she pleaded, grabbing on to his frail wrist and attempting to firmly pull him back onto his knees upon the mattress. Her eyes were large and bright, even in the darkness of his apartment, only the sickly yellow light of the streetlamps outside illuminating them. But even then the concern was evident. He nearly caved at the sight. "Don't do something you're going to regret! You don't need to leave! To run from this. Please...please think of another way, Adamo!"

Marco however was still backing away from her desperately grabbing hands. "Anne...you don't understand. If I...if I go back with him I have to...Everyone there will hate me. They'll tear me apart. I let her die! Sean...Sean's in Toronto! No!"

"You're being ridiculous! No one there hates you. It was an accident," she pleaded, finally catching his trembling hands in her own. But Marco yanked his away just as quickly.

"No. I'm going to get as far away as possible. I can't- won't...face Sean after what happened."

Realizing this conversation was not going to lead anywhere Anne let her shoulders fall pathetically and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Where do you plan on going Adamo?"

Marco's lips trembled slightly at her question as he looked around at the barren walls of his apartment as if searching for a destination in the stained wallpaper. "I do-...California. Anywhere there. I've just got to get away. He won't find me there. None of them will. This time for sure." Even as he said this Marco felt his resolve begin to rebuild itself. By the time he finished his sentence he had his mind set. He'd go that far. Not even Dylan would think to look that far away. He wouldn't hear Ellie in his head that far away .

Anne only looked on at her stubborn friend feeling as if life was slipping through her fingers like water. He was so lost. So lost and he didn't even realize it.

"Fine," she hissed, stepping forward to glare into his eyes. "I'm going with you."

-------------------

After Marco had run from him the day before Dylan had gone back to his hotel. He found it to be just as desolately empty as he assumed it would be. Unlike that same morning the room seemed cold and stark. The room had been cleaned in his absence and the unwrinkled made bed only served to depress him further as all signs of Marco's previous presence were erased. He'd sat on the cold bed and waited.

Some ten television shows and a box of pizza later, Dylan stood and looked out his window. It had snowed sometime in the last few hours and the view of the street was bleak and unmoving with Marco nowhere in sight.

Dylan once again fell asleep to the glow of the television without even changing out of his clothes. His hopes of Marco appearing to him as he had the night before were dashed when he woke the next morning to his shirt choking him and his bed just as empty as when he drifted off.

It was with a heavy heart Dylan packed his bag that morning, unconsciously moving at a snail's pace with the hidden hope Marco would come crashing into his room and tell him he'd changed his mind or he was sorry. Or say good-bye. Anything. But another traitorous hour passed without incident and without Marco, and as Dylan returned his key to the front desk and made for his car he felt as if he had failed somehow.

It had never been his plan to bring Marco back, or even to have stayed this long to investigate him and his life. He had simply come to see him as strange as the notion was and at the time it had seemed to make sense.

Now though, as he brushed snow off of his windshield and ignored the frigid temperature, Dylan couldn't help but wonder when it had all changed. When Marco had ceased to be to him, replaced by Adamo the fiery, cynical, and strangely alluring urchin he'd found in New York City. He wondered when he had exactly decided he wanted this man in Toronto with him or even why.

The answers he was seeking, Dylan decided as he started the ignition, would never be answered. Marco was through with his game, that was clear, and it was now time for him to return to his perfect cookie-cutter little life while Marco got back to life in his personal prison. The world was once again revolving and Dylan was expected to move with it.

Pulling out of the parking lot Dylan couldn't help but glance up and down every street for any sign of the Italian man and by the time he reached the city limits his face was conspicuously wet.

But he drove onward what seemed ages, not stopping unless necessary, and this was how he found himself in a very familiar cemetery later that evening. Even here the snow still fell, though it didn't seem so cold here. Here at least the snow was comforting and familiar and seemed to try to comfort him. But here there was no comfort for anyone, and as Dylan felt himself brush his gloved fingers against the ornately engraved E on the headstone, Dylan felt his combined losses seemingly fall upon his shoulders with considerable force.

"Here lies Ellie Nash," he whispered into the silence. His voice was slightly sarcastic as if his words were more of a joke than a serious statement. He sighed tiredly. "Here lies Ellie Nash …and the child of Dylan Michalchuk." The blonde dropped his hand from the granite and it fell like a dead weight at his side. The snow under his knees seemed colder. "Here lies part of the family he will never have. The other ran away from him."

Feeling the familiar burn of tears at his eyes Dylan dropped his gaze to the dead flowers littering the ground. "I'm so sorry, Ellie," he whispered after a long pause, his joking deserting him as he heard his voice break. "If I had known…I promise I would have tried to help, both of you, the three of you. I just...God I'm so sorry Ellie."

At the dead silence that followed Dylan realized his aplogies were unheard and he felt for the first time the feeling that may have caused Marco to cry out "I was too late!" when Dylan tried to pry. He felt as if he didn't know where to go when he decided to leave the cemetary. Where was there to possibly go? Ellie was gone and this suddenly seemed to be much more devastating than those days following her death.

And, his numb thoughts broke in, Marco was gone as well. And this time…probably forever.

A faint crunching sound registered in Dylan's head and it seemed to take great effort for him to tear his eyes away from the grave to look around. A burly figure was walking up and Dylan strained to see who was daring to interrupt him. Finally a face materialized and Dylan felt his gaze soften almost instantly. Sean Cameron was approaching, looking every bit the grown man he was now, hair lifting in the frigid breeze and walking confidently.

In his hands a small bundle of black magic roses stared up at him with their deep red sightless faces. Unbidden, Dylan felt his heart contract painfully as he remembered pointing to a like bouquet in a dark and quiet flower shop window with another person's body heat warming his shoulder.

Sean however did not notice his pain and moved to kneel beside him. If Sean questioned why Dylan was here when he rarely visited, he didn't voice it and Dylan abstractly wondered just how often Sean came here.

The other man's strong voice broke into his thoughts. "You look like shit. Is everything alright?"

Dylan didn't even know where to begin in response to this as hundreds of thoughts and memories bombarded him at once. Instead of trying to trudge through the chaos he only sniffled pathetically and tried to pull himself together. Falling apart alone was one thing, but in front of your male friend was another entirely. Wiping his eyes he only shrugged, realizing his jacket was covered in a heavy layer of snow by this point as some slipped past his collar to melt shockingly against his neck.

"How's your wife?" he asked instead of answer, eager to direct attention off of himself and what he couldn't properly explain.

"Paige is fine," Sean answered flippantly, setting the flowers aside to look at the taller man more closely. "Now what the hell is wrong?"

What a loaded question, he thought to himself as he allowed his eyes to drift back to the dull grey of the grave stone. Dylan mulled over everything that had happened that past week, from Marco's tear stained face and those few small embraces before he'd left for good. He mulled over what he'd given up to be there, what he'd gained, and ultimately, what he'd lost in the end. Finally Dylan decided the agony just simply wasn't worth it and slowly, as if dazed, he shook his head. "Sean...Ellie's baby was mine," he whispered simply.

A very long and drawn out silence followed and Dylan wished he hadn't said anything at all. "How do you know?"

"Marco."

"You found him? That's great! Is he alright?"

Dylan found himself practically freezing in shock, eyes widening and back suddenly going rigid. Confusion quickly took over his own panic and he turned bewildered blue eyes on Sean's similarly colored pair, only to find his calm; excited and worried, but calm. This reaction simply didn't make sense. Where was the anger? The hurt? Hell, where was the pity or sadness. Anything.

"You're not listening!" he gasped, feeling his surprise slowly melting into anger. "I'm the fucking father of Ellie's baby! She's dead! The child's dead! I never even _knew_, Sean!" His shouted words seemed almost surreal in the quiet of the cemetary, and even stranger in the face of Sean's calm. It was killing him, this apathy. Why should Sean be so detached when he was falling apart? The man had loved Ellie like the rest of them hadn't and yet he was taking this news as if a duck in water. What did it take?

Instead of continue wondering he only trudged forward, words practically spilling out of him as he became more desperate for a reaction similar to his own. "I couldn't even try to do...anything! I have to find out ten years later from the man I used to love while he's crying and fighting against his own past. And I thought I could help him!" he moaned, digging his fingers painfully into his leg as those damnable tears began coming back, but he defiantly brushed them away. "I thought I could be his hero all over again. Not this time. No...because _this_ time I'm just as fucked up by the past as he is aren't I? We're too perfect fucking peas in a pod."

Sean stared at him in silence, lost for words. His quiet however had a sobering effect on Dylan as he slowly but surely began winding down, shoulders and hands shaking under the strain. God but everything hurt suddenly. "I'm- I'm sorry...I just...God it's been a long week."

In a show of newfound sympathy Sean placed a warm hand on Dylan's shoulder, squeezing in reassurance without any words. Dylan didn't need words at the moment, simply people. However, the shorter man ignored Dylan's rant completely as he forged forward. "Where's Marco? Is he at your house?"

"I don't know where he is Sean," Dylan finally said, surprised at how defeated his voice sounded. It seemed ages since he'd ever been this depressed."He ran away. That's all he's been doing since she died Sean. From her, me, you...and this time...I don't think we'll ever see him again." It was a fact that had been bothering him since he'd left New York, the very real possibility that Marco had well and truly fallen off the face of the planet this time around. From here on out there would be no high school reunions to make him magically appear into his world lonely and afraid. Forever, he reflected, seemed much longer than he had ever given it credit.

"Shut the fuck up."

Dylan's head shot up out of instinct, eyes wide and quickly beginning to spark. "Excuse me?"

Sean's face was the picture of righteous indignation and Dylan felt a small flare of color suddenly come back to life within him as Marco's honor was suddenly at stake. "You dared to come to Ellie's grave after finding out you're the father," Sean said pointedly and Dylan sat up straighter at the unexpected statement. "And now you're not even going to finish what you started with Marco...her best friend. She would be appalled."

His jaw dropped as he scrabbled to fight back. "What...what would you have me do!"

Expression as sure as it had ever been before, Sean's answer was simple and to the point, leaving little to no room for argument.

"Find him."

-----------------

Despite his lack of proper sleep and food Dylan had stood after his conversation (if in fact it could be called that) and walked out of the graveyard with a surety that even scared him. Sean's cool demeanor throughout their argument had finally caught up with his mind and he saw the maturity that he had somehow forgotten was there. Perhaps it was all too easy to forget how old they were at times, so stuck in the past as he and Marco appeared to be. It was so easy to forget the others from Degrassi had gotten past it. He himself had thought he had as well, but now he saw he had only been dragged kicking and screaming right back into the pain due to the Italian man and his emotional bomb.

And the only way to go back to mature, unworried, adult life, he reflected, was to help Marco get there as well. He'd had dreams as a child of finding a significant other to live out the rest of his days with, the same childish dream everyone had. And even now, he doubted the dream had truly faded as much as he thought, though certain dynamics had changed. But he could vividly remember thinking he had found this dream in Marco when they had begun dating those ten years ago. A feeling that he very much doubted had changed either. He realized there was not, at least presently, marriage material in Marco. But a friend...friend material was strikingly obvious and glaring, as was the need to make sure he attained this friend.

So perhaps it was not all that strange that he had stopped crying and now found himself back in New York City some seven hours later, after having sped dangerously the whole way. It was now three in the morning and not a soul was awake. The late hour did not stop him from standing outside of Marco's apartment however. After having knocked and pleaded at his door for hours with no luck he was now seated on the threadbare carpet in the dimly lit hallway, listening to the sounds of sleep around him. The city had always been known for its neverending noise and he had to agree. Even now, when the world was dark, the sound was ongoing, lulling Dylan into a semi-awake state of numbness. He'd wait however long it took.

-------------------

Hushed voiced danced around Dylan's ear several hours later, waking Dylan from his light dozing in the hallway. Slowly reaching alertness Dylan could make out the voices more clearly and was visibly jarred to realize the more masculine voice of the two was none other than Marco's tempestuous red headed friend. Steve was it?

"Again he's very sorry for leaving on short notice. He gave you all he had left to pay for the last month and I'll also help if it's that important," Steve continued down the way. The hall made a turn near the end of the corridor and so all Dylan could see was a pair of shadows against the wall and as he stood, brushing wrinkles out of his clothes and attempting to right his hair, he strained his ears to hear every word.

"I just hope the poor thing is alright. He was always sweeter than most of the sons of bitches here. Never could figure out why he lived here."

"Yes I agree. Is it alright if I just pop in his apartment to get the things he's left and clear out his fridge? I'll return the key to you when I'm done."

"Certainly, but if I find out you're stealing that boy's things I'll personally tan your hide."

Footsteps could be heard after Steve's hurried goodbye and Dylan tried to clear his face of expression. As expected the familiar flaming head of hair rounded the corner and Dylan crossed his arms, planting his feet firmly. As Steve realized whom he was his face turned stony and a glare of epic proportions took over his other wise handsome face. It was a look so full of loathing that Dylan all but felt the impact, swaying backward dangerously although he hadn't not been touched whatsoever. He had underestimated this man's hatred of him by far.

"Is Marco here?" he asked desperately, despite his wish to stay passive in this situation.

"Adamo left," Steve sad simply, shoving past him with a brutal amount of force into Marco's apartment. Dylan followed him almost immediately, barely taking in the bare, sunlit room that he had almost become familiar with within the past few days. Marco was nowhere in sight and so Dylan believed the man's word, though they made this confrontation all the more necessary and all the more forboding.

"Where did he go?"

Grabbing things from the floor, clothes, papers, everything, Steve did not look at him whatsoever, fiery eyes kept low on the ground. "Like I'd tell you," he spat, once again shoving past the blonde man to continue gathering items on the other side of the room.

"Please!" Dylan roared, clenching his fists at his side. "I need to find him!"

"What, so you can fuck with him even more!" the red head snarled, finally looking up from the floor with blazing blue eyes. "Everything was perfect! Everything was exactly how it should have been! Then you stuck your big shining nose in where it didn't belong! Now..." Steve sighed, dropping what was in his hands as he glared at Dylan much the same way as he had outside of the apartment. His eyes were dead. "Now he's gone. I'll never see Adamo again and it's ALL your fault you BASTARD!"

Dylan found himself at a loss as he stared at the other man's anger. He couldn't help but feel he'd done it again, ruined another life. And maybe that's what he was doing here in the first place. Was he really helping Marco at all? Even from the start? Here now, looking for him even though he was very obviously gone? However, Sean's words in the cemetary suddenly ran through his mind again, strengthening his resolve yet again. He owed Ellie to at least finish what he'd started. Giving up was the cowards way out, at least Marco wasn't coward enough to give up, he simply dodged. Now Dylan was left to attack not simply sidestep opportunities. In order to get Marco home he'd have to climb uphill.

Heat suddenly and brightly returning Dylan surged forward, grabbing hold tightly to the front of Stephen's shirt and shoving him up angrily into the nearest wall. Nose to nose and heated eye to eye Dylan shook him fiercely. "I need to find Marco _now_!" he hissed through his teeth. "Where the fuck is he?"

Steve, far from intimidated, only laughed spitefully in his face. "Away from you," he smirked before punching Dylan in the stomach with startling speed. Staggering back, feeling winded and gasping, Dylan looked up through his hair before charging again. What followed was little less than a schoolboy brawl on the blacktop, all fists and teeth and pulling at shirts and hair until finally Dylan found himself straddling the much skinnier man's waist and holding him by a fist full of fiery hair.

"Now," he rasped, tugging on the hair painfully. "I'll ask again. Where is Marco? I can't help him when I can't find him."

Stephen stopped struggling at the mention of his unrequieted love and fell slack against the floor, though his teeth stayed threateningly bared. "He wouldn't have run if all you wanted was to help him."

"Trust me...Marco wouldn't know help if it came up and bit him in the ass. He's running from guilt...I can't prove to him that feeling ashamed is wrong until I can get him around the very people he's afraid of judging him. Please...where is he?" he pleaded, almost falling over in relief as Steve sighed beneath him, looking off towards the wall blankly instead of look Dylan in the eye.

"If you hurt him..."

"I won't."

Another sigh and Dylan realized he'd finally cleared the woods. "He and Anne hopped the first flight to San Francisco. I- I hooked them up with a friend, they'll be staying at his place until they find jobs."

Dylan stared down at Steve for a very long time, as if trying to decipher his intentions or his feelings in a glance before he finally and slowly released the grip of the hand holding onto Steve's hair so tightly. "Thank you," is all he said before climbing off of him.

-----------------------

Marco was insanely cold at the moment. Perhaps more cold than he had ever been in his life, which, he mused, was quite the thing to say considering he'd spent his entire life in Canada and the utmost northern half of the US. But the fact was undeniable that even here, in San Francisco, it was indeed all but bone chilling.

The flight several hours before had been spent in awkward silence, especially after the argument he'd had with Anne after telling her how he was paying for the tickets. She had not taken the fact that he saved money specifically for running away very lightly. To her it was money he could have used on food, or rent, or anything else similar. But she would never understand, he thought as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. No matter how far she followed him he doubted she'd ever understand why he was doing it.

The place Stephen's acquaintance had turned out to be far less glamorous than Marco and Anne had expected. In fact, considering just how low their expectations had been, glamorous was perhaps the furtherst description from the truth. More fitting would have been decrepid, depressing, and filthy.

Instead of the extremely meager apartment they had been expecting upon touching down in California Marco and Anne found an utterly despairing and fallen apart warehouse. Steve's friend Neil met them outside the virtually doorless building, all ratty hair, rotten teeth, and alcohol stench. But he was kind despite appearances and had ushered them in quickly to escape the wind.

They now found themselves on a makeshift pallet upon the dirty floors of the warehouse. The large grungy windows on nearly all of the walls let in dim, infected lamplight from the night world outside, nearly all of the glass panes broken and torn away, letting in the chilly drafts. Around them other occupants lay in similar bundles, all looking even more worse for wear than himself and Anne, sickly coughs and quiet talking still filling the large room as the less fortunate people began settling in for the night.

It was all so different than what he had been expecting, and yet Marco felt thankful for this wretched place. Cold, hungry, and dirty he might have been, but the fear he had for making it through the night completely obliterated any thoughts of Dylan and Ellie and Degrassi from his mind.

"God it's freezing in here."

Marco turned at the sound of Anne's quiet voice, the movement feeling far more difficult and taking up far more energy than it had any right to. The only response he seemed capable of making was a very shaky "yeah," as he settled into the thin blanket around him, temple pressing painfully into the concrete beneath him.

A pause rang through, the flickering and ticking of the bonfires across the room the only sound, before Anne's meager voice sounded again. "I'm hungry."

"Yeah."

With his eyes closed Marco could not see Anne's irritated expression, but he could feel it against his skin. Her frustration, he knew, was not out of the living conditions no matter how much she complained at his side. The steely look that he just knew was in her eyes was aimed at him and him alone. Still he kept his eyes tightly closed, focusing instead on the numbness of his feet, the ache in his head.

"Adamo..." she sighed, and he felt her nearby, the warmth of her leaching into his side. It took all he had not to make a sound of comfort as some of the tenseness in his shoulders drifted away. "Adamo...why are we here?"

Her voice held an edge, words soft with jagged edges, whether from exhaustion or the very real lack of understanding, he didn't know. He wanted so badly to ease her discomfort, promise they'd go back to New York, back to their steady jobs, their two meals a day, back to Steve. His back to Anne he opened his eyes, his gaze instantly falling on to the window several feet away. The diseased yellow light from outside filled imaginary eyes, and a grin with crooked glass teeth winked down as the windows watched over him and Anne. The windows were foreboding, alluding to the danger outside, but there were no snowflakes falling from within the window's sightless eyes. The air was not near as silent and deceiving as it was in New York, there were no hidden meanings in the air here.

He sighed, closing his eyes again in exhaustion, voice weary and weather beaten as he corrected, "Marco."

"I don't care who you are!" Anne snapped behind him and Marco could feel his stomach drop a bit at her tone of voice, no longer sweetly soft, but pained and angry with confusion. "Adamo...what are you afraid of?" she finally pleaded.

A jarring quiet overtook him and Marco's eyes slid open despite his fatigue, falling immediately upon the windows once again. They still held their intimidating stare and it did nothing to ease the sudden disquiet within him. He wanted to answer that he was afraid of the windows, afraid they'd never let him leave this place, keep him inside the dusty and sick confines of this building as if to say, your New York is gone, your Degrassi is gone as well. Instead he only tightly sealed his eyes once again, burying his face into his arm. "I don-...I don't know."

"Why can't you just admit it Adamo," Anne continued, voice no less angry but quickly sounding tearfully beseeching. "You run. That's all you've ever know how to do. And here you are...all the way across the country this time because you don't like knowing what would have happened if you'd gone back home." Marco said nothing, and Anne's voice only rose in volume at his lack of reaction. "Am I right, Adamo!"

"Go to sleep, Anne," he breathed, feeling so very sick of this, feeling so very tired of this.

"Don't tell me to go to sleep!" she hissed, and Marco could feel her bosom at his back as she leaned over him, long, baby fine hair falling feathersoft against his face in direct contrast to the sharp hurt her voice betrayed. "I went along with you because I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. I was terrified of what might happen to you here. I couldn't help but replay everytime you almost got yourself into deep shit back home. But now we're here. By God, Adamo I may never see Steve again and I want you to listen and tell me things instead of hiding."

Oh, Marco's mind moaned. Dragging in a shuddering breath he kept his eyes clenched so tightly shut, fearing one look upon her face would cause him to breakdown.

Anne however took his silence as insolence and only spoke onward, intent to drag some sort of reaction out of him. "I know I never said anything, I was hoping you'd figure it out...but you should trust Dylan. I mean...that man did a day's worth of driving and blew off his whole week just to be here...to try and make you see reason. And when he offers you a chance at stability! A chance at a real roof over you head, an education and a job... He's handing you a chance to start over, Adamo! A whole new life on a silver platter because he cares about you that much...and you run," she cut off, her voice growing weak. Marco could feel her tiny hands digging halfmoons into his arm even through the blanket and he felt his face beginning to crumble against his wishes to not fall apart.

"You run. Run from him after he's given you _so_ much. How...how could you _do_ that Adamo?" she finished desperately, and Marco felt the scalding warmth of tears as Anne's face came down to rest upon his own, her forehead resting affectionately upon his temple despite her berating.

His chest hurt so badly, he realized, and he distantly wondered if this is what it felt to have your heart break. He'd only experienced this feeling once before and he had thought at that time his heart had really and truly broken into so many pieces, leaving his body at Ellie's death. He thought he'd never feel again, and right at this moment he almost wished he'd been right. It hurt so much to let her down like he'd done so many times before to so many different people.

But thinking of returning to Degrassi Marco felt his heart begin beating again. "It's Marco," he said once again, repeating his earlier statement as he shrank further into himself, turning his head so that only his hair was visible to Anne. Feigning sleep with all the energy he had left it was with great stomach clenching relief that he felt Anne sigh loudly above him and retreat, her warmth leaving his body. He mourned the loss but stayed as he was, hands clenched so tightly into the blankets he'd finally lost feeling in them.

However, even with Anne no longer near him, no longer pleading with him, her words stayed with him long after. Against his will he was bombarded with memories that night. Some inconsequential and some that were life-altering. He thought of receiving praise from his mother as a child due to how very dependable he was, thought of his first day walking through the halls of Degrassi. The memory of Ellie's first shy smile on the day he met her, the redhead pulling up beside him as he walked home later that day. Her smile had been like sunshine, warm and almost palpable. Dylan had a similar smile he remembered, bright, shining, and near painful to look at.

His first date came to mind, along with his graduation day, far more somber than any celebration should be. He thought of the way Dylan had made love to him that night, whispering in his ear that life would change now, that life was bigger and better after high school. He remembered how much he had wanted to reply that no...life would continue just as it had, life would be smaller and more bleak with every passing day he'd sit in a classroom.

As he lie there in the present, feeling the frigid cold of the concrete floor beneath him slowly but surely leach into his body he could remember that that was perhaps the last time in which he'd ever truly felt warm before, even as little as he had. After Ellie's death it was like walking under a constant rain cloud, but it was never raindrops falling on his shoulders, always snowflakes, making his fingers ache and his insides freeze over. Dylan was always able to allow him a temporary thaw and it was always a sigh of relief when he did.

Then he had run. He'd left during the night with Dylan's warmth still clinging to his skin, giving him strength to pack a small bag and leave. He'd taken Dylan's car, the one he had coveted for so long, and drove to the nearest bus station. He'd mailed a letter that night explaining that he had left, the key to Dylan's car nestled safely inside. That was the last night he'd ever looked upon Toronto, taking the first bus to London that grey Tuesday morning.

That was the last night he'd ever felt warm, Marco realized as he lay there. It was the last night he'd ever felt safe, soon after finding his first job in London, always looking over his shoulder for unseen attackers and nearly falling apart every evening as he washed his hands before finding a place to sleep that night or the next. There was never any peace and even if it had been June at the time he still felt snow all around him.

Marco once again thought of the window, not opening hsi eyes but seeing it with perfect clarity within the black beneath his eyelids. There was no snow outside...but there was in his head, falling with perfect crystalline slowness, each flake holding a memory of "home" on their cold surfaces. He distantly remembered Dylan's breath on his neck, the warm snowflakes that seemed to emanatate from him and him alone and the image calmed the pain in his chest.

What felt like years later, thousands upon thousands of recollections later, Marco finally felt himself slip into an exhausted sleep, one feeling in particular filling his head.

Disappointment...in himself.

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Steve had terrible handwriting Dylan thought to himself as he continued with his attempts to decipher the scratchy instructions the red haired man had given him in New York. He was almost tempted to think Steve had purposefully used such a shaky hand, wanting to make his search as long and convoluted as he possibly could, though such treachery seemed rather silly if he stopped to think about it. Unfortunately Dylan was now running off whatever sleep he had managed on the plane, that being very little.

Having already been awake for the last thirty or more hours Dylan was hardly all that coherent. After practically beating and interrogating Stephen for the whereabouts of the Italian he'd taken the first flight he could come across, touching down in San Francisco shortly after five o'clock that evening and he'd been searching for the last hour. The sun was setting but he hardly noticed, eyes searching for street signs and markers that Stephen had indicated. He had left his cab a few minutes and a block behind, his cell phone in his pocket ready for when he decided to return home. With Marco or without.

He hoped the latter would never come to pass.

Looking up from the chicken scratch yet again, Dylan's blue eyes caught onto a well graffitied street sign some thirty yards ahead and his heart jumped as he found it to be the correct one. He walked speedily in that direction, feeling as if his blood was singing or perhaps simply holding its breath. As he finally reached the street corner, gloved fingers resting gently against the pole as if he'd accomplished something great, movement down the street caught his eye.

Marco Del Rossi some hundred yards away was hurriedly crossing the street, head bowed and wrapping a familiar scarf around his neck. Even from this distance he looked as skinny as a scarecrow in his too small and thin clothes. He looked like a cliche walking, dirty hair flying in the strong wind and thin arms wrapped tightly around him.

Dylan decided he'd never seen more breathtaking a sight in his whole life.

Dropping the napkin with Stephen's instructions onto the ground without a single thought he began running. Slowly, dazedly at first, but as Marco's figure grew in size he felt energy from God only knew where fill him, giving him the burst to speed up until he was sprinting, coat tails flapping behind him and breathing coming out in sharp pants.

Marco did not see him, gaze so intent upon the sidewalk as it was, but within seconds he heard the heavy footfalls. Lifting his head slowly he barely had time to take in the sight of the other man before he was practically plowed over, Dylan's momentum too much to stop.

They somehow magically managed to stay standing and without even thinking Marco lifted his arms to wrap around Dylan's neck. His small chest coming in contact with the larger man's he could feel the erratic breaths he was still taking, warm and solid against him, making his grip that much tighter as if life would slip right away if he allowed his hold to lighten in the slightest. He didn't know why he was doing this, his body was running away with his mind, but the only thing he could seem to compute at the moment was how familar Dylan felt beneath his hands. Familiar in a way he hadn't felt in years, and...yes, Dylan was wrapping his own larger arms around Marco's waist, lifting his toes right off the ground.

And life was suddenly revolving yet again.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Dylan whispered faintly into Marco's long and ratty hair, his grip becoming almost vice-like. His words were almost sacred, a sense of fear drifting within them into Marco's ears as if to say 'never would have killed me," hitching Marco's breathing and causing a familiar pain to rush through his chest.

"I...I was...God Dylan I don't know what I was thinking. I just had to...to.."

"Shh it's okay. I understand, Marco. Everything will be alright. We'll get you home, cariad," Dylan whispered and Marco could feel silent tears falling as he buried his face into Dylan's neck as if he could burrow there, but for once he didn't feel ashamed of his crying, even as the tears suddenly began pouring out of him.

He nodded into Dylan's neck, feeling the wetness of his own tears against his forehead as he did so, and suddenly...as if struck by everything building within him for this entire week Marco found himself slowly lifting his head, large reddened eyes catching onto Dylan's immediately before brushing his lips achingly soft against the other man's. He could feel the hold on his too thin waist tighten and he poured all of his desperation into the kiss, letting his longing to be needed, to be loved, finally come into the open after so many years.

He could taste his own tears.

And all he can think about as he felt Dylan tentatively begin to kiss him back was the feeling that this wass familiar...a homecoming...and that for once...he's found something to keep him standing in one place.

That this...this was a reunion.

_Fin_.

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Man you guys...I don't even know. I think I'm still slightly in shock that it's finally over. Please review, I'd appreciate it wholeheartedly. And thank you so much to all of you amazing people who have already reviewed to previous chapters.


	10. Epilogue

For those who requested an epilogue of sorts...your wish is my command. It does not hit on a lot of things mentioned in the full story because I wrote this all in one go and without any editing. So certain things are left out completely. But the purpose is to simply show how Marco is fairing now that he is back in Toronto after so long. Cheers

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Snow angels were strange things. The idea behind them was touching, creating something meaningful out of something as simple as snow, only to melt without a trace. But the creator can continue to come to the place, to this patch of unimportant grass and say there was once beauty in this place.

The trouble with snow angels however, is that they were never perfect. Hand prints and footprints always marred the supposed perfections of the angels of heaven. Small animals walked over the already messed up creations. Leaves and dirt fell across the pure surface of these heavenly beings.

And most troublesome of all...was the snow itself.

Marco sighed to the quiet of the house, feeling as if perhaps the air was thick enough that the sound moved more slowly than usual. The cup of tea in his hand was near empty and lukewarm, but a faint glow of heat still rested against his palm as he stared out the window.

Dylan and Paige had bounded out the door half an hour ago intent upon making snowmen, angels, and a general mess of the pristine yard. Marco watched from indoors, remembering the days he had watched Anne and Stephen play similarly in Central Park. He had similarly not joined in but remembering the moment now he felt his throat become constricted. He had not seen either of them for so long now. He gazed out with grave intensity as snowflakes melted on the window panes reminding him of the window that watched over him his first and last night in San Francisco.

Thinking about it, that night was nearly an entire year in the past now and at times, times like now when he was left alone with nothing but the silence, the snow, and his own bad memories, such recollections came to mind no matter how far buried they may have been.

God, but the fear he had felt that next morning as he had ventured out in search of a job. There had been no snow but it had been the most bone chilling of winds that had pressed against his back, leaching through his threadbare clothes and sinking frozen claws into his bones.

Suddenly the front door burst open and a gust of chilly air from outside raced up Marco's spine, causing him to exhale loudly as two brightly smiling blonde's stepped inside, dripping ice and water from their hair and their shirt sleeves, looking as if they could not be more happier despite their ruddy cheeks.

Marco could not even find the energy within himself to smile at their bustling little entrance, only making eye contact with both before heading away to the kitchen with his tea cup in silence, leaving the brother and sister to shrug out of their heavy jackets and snow boots.

The kitchen seemed blaringly bright for unknown reasons and Marco shuffled over to the cabinet for another tea bag, hands brushing along jars of peanut butter, boxes of microwave popcorn, bottles of olive oil. Latching onto the tea box Marco lowered back to the flat of his feet, and as his heels made contact with the linoleum he suddenly felt inexplicably drained.

His head suddenly felt light and he raised burning eyes to look at the hundreds of little boxes and cans within the cupboard above him, picking out each and every thing he could not afford for ten years of his life.

This was how Dylan found him, staring with glassy eyes into the cupboard as if in a trance. The blond man bit his lip as he entered the kitchen, crossing his arms and sizing up the situation. Since bringing Marco here strange moments such as these were seen often. Moments of remembrance, of fear, of regret that caused Marco to stop functioning in order to deal with.

And so he hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, slowly and quietly so as not to startle him, sliding his hands across the much shorter man's bony shoulders, feeling the tensing of muscles beneath his fingers. Dylan kneaded Marco's neck with his thumbs, watching as the Italian's eyes disappeared beneath his lashes and his shoulders slowly but surely relax beneath the touch. Blue eyes glowed as they watched the surrender that Marco allowed and he allowed his fingers to continue massaging the younger man's neck, calmly ecstatic that the cupboard was well forgotten.

"Hot chocolate!?" came Paige's call from the living room, breaking the moment. Marco seemed to all but jump back into himself, twitching back to attention beneath Dylan's hands. The blond watched the other man shake his head as if to clear it before going about finding the cannister of hot cocoa in a very business-like manner. Dylan damned his sister.

Gently taking the box of cocoa away from the Italian, Dylan leaned forward enough to brush his lips against Marco's temple. "Make your tea. I will appease the sibling," he reassured, going about filling two mugs with warm water as he watched his lover out of the corner of his eyes.

Marco caught his eye from time to time, but no smile seemed to be forthcoming this particular day. Many a day the shorter man was simply bursting with giggles and smiles, looking every bit the happy teenager he had fallen in love with ten years ago. However, there were also the bad days, as Dylan knew and understood.

With one last stir to mix the sugar into the tea Marco sighed once again, delicately picking up his cup. Just as Dylan was resigned to finishing the mugs of hot chocolate alone without knowing Marco was all right the man walked beside him, rising up on his sock clad toes to kiss his cheek in much the way he had kissed the other man moments before.

Dylan watched the small figure of Marco disappear out of the kitchen and he felt a small sad smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

In the living room Paige was rummaging around the Christmas tree in a pair of tatty looking sweat pants and a shirt proudly proclaiming Banting University across its frayed front. Marco did not truly acknowledge her presence, only taking a seat on the sofa with his tea, bringing his legs up against chest as he watched her.

She seemed to have other ideas though, as she gave up on her endeavor to shake every box within reach and instead moved to plop down beside him as well. "What is _with_ this teenage angst routine, Marco hun? We totally graduated Degrassi a decade ago."

Marco cocked an unamused brow in her direction before turning his gaze back to the Christmas tree, eyes near riveted on the warm glow of white lights and the multi-colored glass surfaces of ornaments. This reaction was apparently not at all the one Paige had been searching for.

"You know, you've become such a wet blanket now that you're older, Marco. I'm worried about you. So is Sean and Hazel," the blonde insisted, placing a manicured hand on his thin arm. Marco could not find anything to say to this.

He knew, logically, that when someone took you in, fed you, clothed you, employed you, and loved you, that there was a certain amount that you are required to give back of yourself. But on the bad days it was simply too hard. He could never find the enthusiasm to even smile let alone be cheerful and create pointless snow angels outside.

Thankfully, Dylan chose this time to come back, two steaming and marshmallow topped hot cocoas in hand. Hearing the end of Paige's sentence he scowled at her suspiciously, placing the mugs on the coffee table before jerking his head as a signal for Paige to scoot over so that he may sit in between them, both as a mediator as well as to simply be close to the quiet and obviously disturbed Italian.

The uncomfortable conversation not cut short, Paige turned her efforts to Dylan instead, beginning to once again whine about not knowing what presents she was receiving this year (Dylan aren't we a little old to keep these secret?) and the two simply chatted beside Marco as if they truly enjoyed each other's company, enjoyed this closeness, enjoyed this cozy little moment.

Beside them Marco's mind was elsewhere, namely in a blood soaked bathroom, a rundown New York apartment, a dingy little post office, and a rundown warehouse in San Francisco. Paige and Dylan were perfectly capable on focusing on the present, able to laugh and smile and enjoy the beauty of Christmas filling every inch of this room.

Without even thinking Marco ended up whispering to the chatting siblings. "Ellie always hated Christmas."

Two light colored eyes jumped from each other to focus on the dark haired man scrunched at the end of the couch staring lifelessly at the Christmas tree. A silence followed and it was Dylan who finally moved first to place a rough atop the other man's.

For several minutes nothing was said. Over Dylan's shoulder, Paige was seen to be mouthing half thought out responses, quickly resembling a goldfish. And in front of her Dylan only stared at the numb face of his boyfriend with intense blue eyes.

It was so long before anything happened in fact, that when Dylan moved to stand, Marco was startled enough to look in his direction. Knowing he had Marco's attention, Dylan moved to the Christmas tree, disappearing behind it. The two on the sofa watched the tree tremble as the man moved behind it until he reappeared, a large, thin package in hand.

Moving forward, Dylan knelt down on knee in front of Marco and placed in his fragile hands the golden wrapped gift. Quizzical brown eyes searched the man's face before he delicately ripped into the package. What was revealed was a simple black and white photograph, the sarcastically smiling face of Ellie Nash near dazzling in contrast to the gold surrounding her.

Marco choked on a breath, feeling his face crumple and his eyes burn and sting with tears. However, it was not the feeling of caged anxiety that filled him as she looked on that beautiful face, quickly becoming blurred by tears until he was forced to close his eyes.

He was filled with longing, longing to simply hug Ellie one last time.

As he opened his eyes the concerned gaze of Dylan was staring back at him and Marco shuddered with repressed emotion. Again he could not muster a smile or a nod. The only reaction that seemed physically plausible was a sob, and one followed the other until he was crying into Dylan's shoulder as the older man wrapped an around his thin body.

When Marco finally pulled away nearly half an hour later he felt emotionally and physically drained, as if perhaps every ounce of energy and emotion had leaked out with his tears. And though his eyes were red and puffy, and his hands shaking...his heart felt light.

Sniffling pathetically, Marco leaned forward just enough to wetly kiss the corner of Dylan's mouth before turning to Paige, giving her a watery little smile. "Will it snow tomorrow?" he asked, voice muffled and hoarse, but the sincerity in his question was tangible.

Paige looked confused, eyes jumping to Dylan's for guidance, before flashing back to Marco. "I um...y-yeah. There will be snow tomorrow," she murmured, overly quiet in the face of such an emotional display, unable to figure out how to react.

Dylan however appeared calm, his hold still firmly around Marco's waist despite the breakdown and despite the oddity of the question. Marco looked peculiarly frail in his hold, but something in his eyes seemed undeniably strong as he spoke again.

"Show me how to make snow angels tomorrow."


End file.
